Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two
by MysticSong1978
Summary: COMPLETE What if Hagrid was too busy to fetch Harry when his letters were intercepted by his Uncle Vernon? What if Severus Snape had gone in his place and learnt that Harry wasn't living in the lap of luxury like he had always imagined.
1. Chapter One

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

Harry groaned as he tried to find a more comfortable position to in which to sleep. He wondered, as he often did, what it would be like to have a family . . . or even just one person . . . who truly loved and cared for him. Someone who cared when his birthday was coming. Someone who remembered he was there for Christmas. He used to wait excitedly for his birthday, hoping for presents from his aunt and uncle. Fun stuff like they gave their son, his pig of a cousin, Dudley. But it wasn't to be, and eventually, he stopped hoping.

Instead of presents, he was taught a "domestic skill" by Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia. They told him it was for his own good so he would be able to fend for himself one day, for surely no one would want to marry a _freak_ like him. Harry rubbed the peculiar lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. No one would tell him how he got it,

except that it had happened the night his parents died. Harry simply couldn't figure out what sort of accident could cause a scar like his, but he'd learned early not to ask many questions. Or any questions. Actually, when you came right down to it, not talking at all was the closest he could come to pleasing his surly relatives.

Harry had vague memories of his parents. Not much to go on, but he instinctively knew that they were loving and kind. How his mother ever had had a sister like Petunia was beyond him. She wasn't sweet at all and she sure resented the bloody hell out of Harry. He often felt like she was observing him, waiting to see if she was missing something that would allow for further resentment.

He wished he knew _why_ they hated him. Maybe he could rectify things somehow and at the least get a real bedroom and some decent food. He knew he was small for his age, but he was still nearly too big to fit in "his" cupboard – even with all the times he was forced to go hungry.


	2. Chapter Two

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

The next morning seemed different to Harry; like the air was electrically charged and ready for quite a severe storm. But the sky was blue and there were no clouds in sight. No one in Harry's family seemed to think anything was amiss and went about the day as usual. This year, Harry was being taught to mow the lawn. He struggled with the machine, not truly being big nor strong enough to push it across the lawn. This was made more difficult by Vernon's watchful glare. Harry knew when he was finished and hidden inside from the neighbor's prying eyes to expect a beating. His back twitched just thinking about it.

Finally he was done. Before Vernon could usher him back inside, the mail came and Harry trudged down the walk to retrieve it. He saw a small cat watching him from across the way. She was a lovely light gray with markings on her face that made her appear to be wearing spectacles. Shock widened Harry's eyes when he drew the mail out and found a large and heavy envelope addressed to him.

Mr. Harry Potter

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

It was sealed with a fancy gold shield imprinted with a decorative **H**. He walked even slower back to the house, staring at the envelope. Before he could open it, however, it was snatched out of his hands by his uncle. "That's mine!" Harry exclaimed, as he made to grab for it until he saw Vernon's face turn from his usual pasty white to a purplish rage.

Harry was furious but knew he was helpless to retrieve his mail from his Uncle who had stormed inside, ripping the letter to shreds as he went. Unbeknownst to him, the little cat had been watching him intently the entire time. Harry felt his skin prickle and turned to see the cat vanish into thin air. He knew better than to mention this to anyone, and in despair, went inside to a certain punishment.

_Later that day at Hogwarts_

An older woman in gray robes and wearing thin spectacles was arguing vehemently with an even older man who sported a long white beard, spectacles and fancy red robes. "Albus, we simply cannot leave him with those _horrible_ Muggles!" exclaimed Professor Minerva McGonagall. "They treat him terribly and his uncle tore his Hogwarts letter to bits! I cannot believe Harry is related to them and I cannot believe _you_ left him there for eleven years! Wards or no wards!"

"Ah, Minerva. You know the power of blood magic made it the safest place for him in case Voldemort returned." He continued, apparently not seeing his colleague flinch when he spoke the name of _Voldemort_. "And growing up as a celebrity in our world wouldn't have done him any good. Poor young Harry. The only person to ever survive that particular Unforgivable curse – at the loss of his parents and their secret keeper. He was the Boy Who Lived. Famous for something he wouldn't even remember. But I suppose if he isn't receiving his mail properly we can send someone to fetch him. You're right Minerva; we'll fetch him for now so he may purchase his school belongings and take his rightful place at Hogwarts. But when school is not in session, Privet Drive, is, however unfortunate, the safest place for the dear child."

Minerva sighed. She looked beseechingly at Albus. "I know you are doing what you feel you must, but if some opportunity presents itself that we have previously overlooked, please promise me you'll weigh it carefully."

Albus nodded. "Of course my dear." He then snapped his fingers thrice and a house elf appeared.

"What does Master Dumbledore require?" asked the creature.

"Fetch Professor Snape for me, please, Pinky, and tell him I need him immediately in my chambers."

Pinky nodded and vanished. Minerva raised an eyebrow. "You're sending Severus after the child? The child of a most hated classmate of Severus?"

"I know that James Potter and Severus did not get along, but surely Severus will not take it out on an innocent child." Minerva wasn't too sure; especially after having seen how much Harry took after his father. "He's truly the best choice. I'd send Hagrid but he's simply too busy getting the Thestrals ready for another school year. Severus has the best chance of getting young Harry away safely. Ideally he'll simply take Harry shopping for supplies and bring everything but Harry's robes and owl back with him so that Harry can experience the Hogwarts Express with the other students. Maybe make some friends. But I'll leave it up to Severus. If he feels it best that Harry come back immediately to Hogwarts, that will be fine as well."

Minerva could only shake her head. 'What if they ran into any wizards who had been Death Eaters under You Know Who's reign?' she wondered. She knew Severus couldn't risk letting anything slip that might indicate he had been working as a spy for the side of the Light when so many people assumed he was a bonafide Death Eater. Severus would _not_ be pleased with his unexpected task. She could not imagine him taking anyone shopping. Much less the son of James and Lilly Potter.

As expected, Severus was not happy about the task Albus had created for him, but he grudgingly agreed to handle it. "I will leave immediately for Surrey, Albus."

"Very good, my boy. Here, take Harry's key to Gringotts with you. He'll need to withdraw some funds in order to purchase his school supplies. And take this letter with you so that you can retrieve you-know-what." Snape nodded seriously and pocketed both the key and the letter. "Only for you, Albus, would I agree to baby-sit the _Potter_ boy and take a ride on those wretched Gringotts cars in the same day."

"Now Severus, Harry is not his father. Try not to pre-judge him. And . . . we're not sure he'll know anything about us after all. I don't think, from what Minerva has told me, that they're very fond of wizards. You may have some explaining to do." Minerva snorted under her breath. Severus was one of the most private people she had ever met and was not fond of conversation.

Snape glared at Minerva. "So be it. I'll do what I need to do, but I am _not_ bringing him back with me unless it is absolutely necessary. And I am _not_ telling him anymore than I deem necessary. You left him with the Muggles, Albus, _you _can provide further details." He turned and marched out of the Headmaster's office, black, robes billowing behind him.

"Be nice, my dear boy!" Albus called after the Potions Master.

"Albus, my dear, Severus doesn't know_ how_ to be nice."

Albus just smiled, blue eyes twinkling with untold mischief.

When nothing further arrived for "that freak," Vernon calmed down and decided that the boy could have food again. What Vernon didn't know was that something far more disturbing than a letter was already on its way to Privet Drive.


	3. Chapter Three

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

"Get up this instant!" Petunia's shrill voice drilled through Harry's sub-consciousness, waking him abruptly. Startled, he sat-up too fast, pulling the muscles in his sorely abused and beaten back and arms. He got dressed, rather gingerly, in his oversized clothes – hand me downs from Dudley – and slunk into the kitchen to start breakfast.

As he was serving his relatives, a loud knock sounded at the front door. Harry was sent, pan and all, to answer the door. He found a tall, severe looking man on the other side of the door. Black robes billowed around him. His still, pale face was surrounded by long, black hair. Glittering obsidian eyes took in Harry's disheveled appearance, the stiff way in which he moved, and, just for a moment, Harry glimpsed a shred of compassion in those dark eyes.

"Harry Potter."

It was a statement, nothing more, but Harry inclined his head at the stranger nonetheless. "It is my understanding that the letter you received yesterday was intercepted. I have brought another for you."

"Thank you, sir . . . ?"

"I am Professor Severus Snape, Master of Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Harry looked blankly at him, but before he could reply, found his uncle standing behind him, Vernon's firm grip digging into his raw shoulder.

"And just who might you be?" growled Vernon, his face once more purple with rage. "If you're selling, we're _not_ buying, and if you're his kind," his hand tightened further on Harry, "you can just _get out_."

Harry didn't know what Vernon meant by "his kind," but something about the professor gave Harry strange courage. "This is Professor Snape, Uncle Vernon, from Hogwarts Sch . . ."

Vernon's hand gripped impossibly tighter, making Harry wince and nearly stumble, a move that did not go unnoticed by Snape. "You'll _not_ be taking the boy! We swore when we took him in that we'd beat all that rubbish out of him!"

"Is that so?" said Snape smoothly. "I'm sure the Muggle officials here in Little Whinging would _love_ to know about your treatment of this child." Vernon sputtered angrily, but could come up with no real response to the cloaked man.

Harry looked at the two men, feeling quite confused. His . . . family, such as they were, had been trying to beat something out of him? Timidly he tapped Snape's arm to get his attention. "Excuse me sir, but what exactly _is_ Hogwarts?"

Snape's eyebrows rose in alarm. "Don't you know _anything?_"

Harry was offended. "My marks in school are quite good," sputtered Harry.

Snape's lips quirked. "No, Harry, I meant about the wizarding world, your world." Harry looked blank again. "You're a wizard, Harry. A most excellent one, I'm sure, once you've been properly trained."

"Me?" squealed Harry. "I can't be a . . . a _wizard_! You must be mistaken. I'm Harry . . . just Harry!"

"Well, 'just Harry,' have you ever made things happen when you were angry or afraid? Things you couldn't control nor explain?" A light started to shine in Harry's dull eyes, making their green shade quite vibrant. He looked at Snape in wonder. Snape nodded at him. "We need to go purchase your school supplies today. Here, take a look at your school letter so you can see what we'll be getting for you." Snape stared at the Dursley's, all three of whom were now clustered behind Harry. "You lot will need to take him to his train on Monday so that he may ride in with his classmates. Is that clear?"

"I will _not_ pay for him to go to a wizard school to be taught by a bunch of crackpots!" yelled Vernon, mustering his wits and courage around him once again.

"Don't you _dare_ call our staff crackpots!" snarled Snape. He was seething. True, he didn't like several of his co-workers, but he wasn't about to put up with this Muggle criticizing them. "We have the finest witches and wizards in all the area to train our students. You will _not _prevent Harry from going. He's had his name down since he was born!" He glared at the three, noticing Dudley as a separate entity for the first time, as the piggy boy started eating the bacon out of the pan that Harry still held. Snape pointed his want at him and muttered something foreign-sounding under his breath. Dudley squealed as a curly pink tail sprouted out of his backside. Dudley snorted in surprise, though it sounded suspiciously like an _oink!_ To Harry, and waddled from the room, hands protectively around his backside. Petunia following close behind.

Snape's eyes held a dangerous glint. "Now, Dursley, you prune, I _am_ going to take Harry shopping and you _will_ take him to the train station on Monday. If he doesn't arrive with the other students, I will hold _you _entirely responsible." Vernon gulped. Harry grinned. No one had ever stood up for him before. "Come, Harry," said Snape. "We have quite a bit to do today." Harry wrenched himself free of Vernon's grip, quickly shucked the apron and pan, and trotted quickly after the professor.


	4. Chapter Four

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

"Sir?" asked Harry, "Excuse me, but how am I to purchase my school items? Some of these things look expensive," he said nervously, as he read through the letter and supplies list. "I've never had any money," he finished quietly.

"Don't worry, Harry, our first stop is Gringotts Bank where your parents had several vaults. They are yours now, although only one is accessible until you're seventeen. That's legal age in the wizarding world because it is the age most wizards graduate from Hogwarts. Your parents planned carefully for your future, especially when they began to suspect they wouldn't live to see you grow up."

Harry pondered this. "So they didn't die in an accident?"

"An accident kill Lilly and Ja . . . James Potter? Hardly." Severus sniffed. "I can't believe Albus thought it was best to leave you with those Muggles for eleven years! Family or not!" In truth, Severus was aware of the blood-magic protection that Harry received by living with those people, but surely it wasn't worth Harry being beaten all his life. What good is blood-magic if your Muggle relatives beat you to death?

"Muggles, sir?"

Snape peered down at "The Boy Who Lived," the wonder, the savior of the wizarding world. A boy whom he was prepared to hate for the sins of his father, and found, to his surprise, someone not so different from himself. His face smoothed into a somewhat more pleasant expression as he regarded the boy. "Muggles are what we call non-magical folk. There are also squibs which are non-magical folk born into wizarding families. I suspect your aunt may be one which would explain her jealousy of anyone with wizard blood in them. Like your mother and yourself."

Harry stared at him, wide-eyed. "I always tried to figure out why she hated me so much." Snape detected a tinge of sadness in the boy's voice. "She'd never tell me about my parents. At first I thought it was because she was too sad about her sister, but then she always seemed so mad. I thought if I could just understand what I was doing wrong, she'd love me like another son. Guess not, huh?" Harry swiped a hand across his face, determined not to cry in front of the man.

Snape sighed. He was all too familiar with never knowing familial love. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder to stop the boy's motion. "Harry, we're in a safe spot now to apparate – how adult wizards transport magically – so hold on tight, yes, put your arms around me. Don't want you getting splinched." Harry didn't ask what that was, but he was pretty sure he didn't want it happening. Just the word itself sounded painful. "When we get where we're going I'll find a private spot and I'll tell you about your past. Or at least some of it so you'll at least know, even if you don't understand, why nearly the entire wizarding world thinks you're _wonderful_." This last said with a bit of a sneer in his voice, but Harry didn't seem to notice.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise when he felt his body whirl away to a place he never would have dreamed existed. "Where are we?!"

Snape looked down at his charge and loosened Harry's arms from around his waist. "We're in our world, child, in Diagon Alley! First let us go to the Leaky Cauldron and get a couple of Butterbeers and then we'll find someplace a little more private to talk. Then we'll go visit Gringotts." Soon Snape had the Butterbeers in hand and was ushering Harry down a side street to a private grove of trees. During the year it was often used for picnics, but now in the rush of preparing for school, was deserted. Snape cast silencing and protection charms around the area for extra security. 'One could never be too safe,' he mused, 'when chaperoning the boy wonder.' Snape sat down, back against a tree, and motioned for Harry to do the same.

"Harry, many years ago, while I was a student at Hogwarts, a wizard just recently out in the adult world went bad. As bad as a wizard can go. Those were dark times, Harry. Everyone was in fear for their lives. No one knew when or where he would strike next, leaving the Dark Mark – a skull with a snake – floating above his victim's homes. Many wizards and witches stood up to him. Nearly all of them are dead or in St. Mungo's after losing their minds. Your parents were on the side of the Light. Their secret keeper – the one person who knew their real location – sold them out to the Dark Lord. He . . . he came to your parent's home one night in Godric's Hollow and hilled them both with an Unforgivable curse." Snape sighed. "Tried to kill you too but he couldn't." He thought about explaining blood magic, but decided Albus could fill Harry in on that and just why he had to live with those Muggles all these years. Comforting someone wasn't his forte and he didn't want to put himself in a position to have to attempt it. "Professor Dumbledore can better explain that to you. The Dark Lord _did_ curse you though. That's where you got your scar from, Harry. That's a mark of a powerful curse from a powerful wizard. Hagrid, our game and key keeper at Hogwarts got you out of your house before Muggles showed up to investigate the destruction and delivered you to professors Dumbledore and McGonagall who were waiting at Privet Drive for you. Professor Dumbledore left a letter with you for when you were older, but I suspect your lovely uncle threw it away. In any case, when the curse didn't work, it rebounded on the Dark Lord, nearly killing him. He, and many of his followers, called Death Eaters, disappeared. Many came forward though and claimed that they had been under the Imperious Curse and had never intended to follow Voldemort. Some were, some weren't, but it's bloody hard to know which to believe."

When Snape stopped to take a breath and a sip of his Butterbeer, Harry asked, "Does he have a name, this Dark Lord?" If Snape thought it odd that after all that Harry only was interested in his name, he didn't show it. Snape had the feeling that everything he'd told the boy would be too much information to take in all at once and was asking the only question he could wrap his mind around.

"We do not speak his name; except for Dumbledore. He's the only wizard that the Dark Lord was ever afraid of. You'll generally hear him called 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. Death Eaters usually call him the 'Dark Lord', but for your own sake of knowing, his name is _Voldemort_." This last said in a hissed whisper.

Harry thought about this. "Then why do _you_ call him the Dark Lord?"

Snape sighed. He didn't really want to scare the boy whom he was developing a grudging respect for, but didn't feel that his spying was any of this child's business, so he merely stared back at Harry, eyes revealing nothing. Harry's eyes got impossibly round, but he said nothing.

'My family has always been dark', Snape thought to himself, 'at least as far back as I am aware. But my soul was always drawn to the light, to helping people in distress. That is one of the reasons I yearned to become a potions master. But the Dark Lord expected my servitude, demanded it. Under Albus's tutelage, I joined the ranks of the Death Eaters as a spy. If the Dark Lord ever learned I was a traitor, I have no doubt that he would kill me, but it was my only outlet back then. My parents were strict followers and told me early on how I would proudly serve the Dark Lord. If I hadn't joined they would have killed me themselves.' Snape carefully pushed the thoughts away.

"Harry, not all wizards come from good backgrounds. You'll find many students at Hogwarts come from less than loving parents. Each Head of House has students like this to deal with, so you'll always have an adult to talk to about what you've been through should you need that." He sighed yet again. 'There is no joy in what I did, save for the information I was able to bring back to Albus, for which I am grateful. It has allowed us to save many, many lives, but I will never overcome the shame and guilt for the atrocities I had to commit in order not to blow my cover. I know it would help Harry understand better if I told him more, but I just cannot. I have worked hard over the years to keep my life private. That meddling old coot, Albus will probably tell Harry something anyhow.' "Now you know why you'll hear yourself referred to 'The Boy Who Lived'," Snape announced, pulling himself and Harry from their thoughts. Harry blushed at the title. "No one else ever survived the killing curse – before or since. And with your survival came years of peace. Hopefully it will continue, but not even the Death Eaters know for sure where the Dark Lord is now."

He patted Harry's shoulder gently, remembering the look on the boy's face when his uncle had grabbed him, but awkwardly, not used to comforting; not even with his less than fortunate Slytherins. Especially, his thoughts darkened, James Potter's son. Snape brushed his thoughts aside. "Healing isn't my forte, Harry, but let me see your shoulders and back and see if I can ease your pain a bit." Harry nervously pulled the oversize shirt that had once been Dudley's over his head. He sat in front of Snape, shivering as the wind brushed his terribly thin, bruised frame. Snape's eyes glittered dangerously. "They make you cook but don't let you eat?"

"I get the leftovers, sir. When I'm not being punished. Then I don't get anything," Harry said, looking intently at his lap.

"Do they beat you as well?"

Harry just looked down at his feet, embarrassed. He hated to admit that he couldn't stand up for himself.

Snape was seething. No one deserved this sort of treatment. He conjured a few potion vials from his private stores. "Drink this, Harry; it's a nutritional potion and boost. It will help your body heal inside and keep you from getting sick when you join the feast at Hogwarts. You've been starved too often to be able to handle the rich foods otherwise. I'll make sure you have one at your place at the Feast. Be sure you drink it _before_ you start your meal." Harry drank it down, wincing at the taste, and quickly drank a bit of his Butterbeer, enjoying the foamy warmth of it. Snape then poured the other potion into his hands and gently rubbed it into Harry's new wounds and old scars. "Like the potion you drank, this will help you heal inside. It will keep new injuries from infection and help fade old ones." When he was done, Harry put his shirt back on. He saw Snape raise an eyebrow at the size. "It was Dudley's," Harry said quietly, "I never got new clothes."

Snape's mood had darkened considerably, but masked his thoughts so as to not to let the boy see the difference. He had always assumed the 'Boy Who Lived' would be spoiled rotten and arrogant, just like his father, but this child was the complete opposite. He stood, a little stiffly, and helped Harry to his feet. "I know you must have questions, thousands probably if you're anything like your Mother, but we need to get going before it gets too late. Remember people will react when they realize who you are. Most for the better, but I'm sure there will always be some for the worse."


	5. Chapter Five

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

At Gringotts, Snape walked Harry up to the most unusual looking creature Harry had ever seen. Weirder, even, than Dudley with his pig tail. "Mr. Potter would like to make a withdrawal from his vault," Snape said quietly.

The creature turned and appraised him. "And does Mr. Potter have his key?"

Snape presented it to the teller who took it and handed it off to another creature. "Goblins, Harry," Snape whispered in his ear. "Smart as anything and just as mean. Nowhere but Hogwarts is safer than Gringotts." Snape stood and leaned closer to the teller. "I also need to pick up 'you-know-what' and vault 'you know-where'," he murmured, sliding a charmed letter from Dumbledore across the counter. The goblin read it and nodded, and passed the letter to the goblin holding the key to Harry's vault.

"Go with Griphook," the teller said.

Harry followed Snape into a long corridor. Snape helped Harry get into a little car on tracks. "I'll get Dumbledore for this," thought Snape, "as he felt his stomach turn as the cart sped through the dark tunnels.

Suddenly the cart screeched to a stop. Snape grimly climbed out and turned to help Harry. The goblin stepped up to the vault and unlocked it. Harry stared in disbelief. There were piles and piles of coins from floor to ceiling – and this was just to last him 6 years and then there were other vaults. Harry was completely flabbergasted. Snape got out a velvet bag and filled it to bursting. "There," he said, handing Harry the heavy bag, "that should last you through the year and some. Don't worry about learning the coins right now. Either I or Professor Dumbledore with that later. Right now I will help you pay or the shopkeeper will, but right now we had better get going."


	6. Chapter Six

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

Their first stop was _Flourish & Blotts_ to purchase the more mundane things: parchment, ink, quite a number of textbooks, and a standard pewter cauldron. Snape caught Harry admiring the gold ones. "If you're wondering, Mr. Potter, the answer is no. First-years tend to melt or blow-up quite a number of cauldrons even with using the more stable pewter ones. Gold would be far too volatile." Next they visited the Apothecary for his potion ingredients. Harry knew he couldn't go wrong, what with having the Potions Master pick out his ingredients. "You won't need many of these for awhile, but it will save you the trouble later of getting hold of them. You will still need to acquire certain items when instructions call for fresh only. I will let my classes know ahead of time if they will need to purchase them or if I will be providing them." Snape, satisfied with the ingredients he had selected for Harry, set about purchasing a few for his private stores. "Now, Harry, for your wand." Harry grinned with pure delight. He'd been looking forward to this since he read his letter.

They stepped through the doors of Ollivander's to see stacks upon stacks of boxes from floor to ceiling. An old man popped up from behind the counter. "Ah, Mr. Potter. I was wondering when I would see you. Let me take your measurements and which is your wand arm, my boy?"

Harry was glad that Snape had explained to him about everyone knowing who he was ahead of time. "My right arm, I guess," said Harry, astounded to realize that the tape measure was measuring him on its own. Mr. Ollivander was still behind the counter shuffling through boxes. "It's the one I write with."

"Enough of that!" Mr. Ollivander cried, and the tape measure dropped to the floor in a heap. "Let's try this one!"

Harry went through wand after wand, waving them as instructed, not sure what he was supposed to do. Knowing as well as the two men did that when things exploded, it probably wasn't the wand for him. Finally, he was handed one that made his fingers tingle. The wood felt warm in his hands and emitted a lovely shower of golden sparks. "Very interesting, _very interesting_, Mr. Potter, that you should be destined for that wand. For you know, it is the wand that chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter, and not the other way around. _Very . . . peculiar_."

"What's peculiar about it?" snapped Snape, impatient with Ollivander.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Severus. That wand's magic core is a single phoenix feather. That phoenix donated only one other feather. Mr. Potter has one; but it's brother, Severus, its brother resides in the wand that gave young Mr. Potter that scar." Ollivander looked sharply at Harry who had shrunk back a bit. Snape was frowning. "He was a great wizard, Mr. Potter. Terrible yes, but great. I'm sure, Mr. Potter, that we can expect great things from you as well. Good day, Mr. Potter, Severus."

Harry looked at Snape with concern. "Will anything bad happen in light of what he told us?"

Snape shook his head. "I do not know, Harry. I'll mention it to Professor Dumbledore. He ought to look into it." He sighed. He did that a lot around Potter, he realized. Snape pointed across the street. "Harry, go ahead to Madame Malkin's and get your school robes purchased. I need to take care of something. I'll meet you over there shortly."

"Yes, sir," said Harry. He cautiously opened the door and peered inside. A small, blonde-haired boy was standing on a stool being measured for his robes.

"Hello, there. Will you be attending Hogwarts as well? It is my first year, but I know what to expect, of course, coming from a long line of wizards. Pure bloods of course. I don't know why Professor Dumbledore lets muggleborns in. My Father wanted to send me to Durmstrom, which only lets in purebloods, but my mother didn't want me to go to school that far away. Play Quidditch at all?"

Harry shook his head, not even knowing what it was.

"I play all the time. I wish they'd let first years play. I'll probably bully my parents into letting me bring my broom. I think it is simply foolish that we can't even _have_ brooms until our second year, don't you?"

"Sure," Harry said, not knowing for sure what he was agreeing to, but knowing instinctively that he didn't particularly like this boy. He reminded Harry too much of Dudley.

"Which house will you be in?" Harry shrugged, trying not to be stuck with a pin as he was measured for his robes. "We don't really know of course until we get sorted, but I'm sure to be in Slytherin like the rest of my family. As long as I'm not a Hufflepuff!" The boy shuddered. "I'd rather die, wouldn't you?"

Madam Malkin gave the blond haired boy a severe look of which Harry couldn't fathom, and went to get robes for each of them.

"Oh, excuse me," said the boy, "How rude! I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Malfoy. _Draco_ Malfoy. What's your name?"

Before Harry could answer, he noticed a dark figure sweep into the store behind him. "Are you ready, boy?" he said to Harry. Harry was confused at the sudden change in attitude towards him by the professor, but nodded. "Good. Let's go." He nodded to Draco, and turned, expecting Harry to follow him.

"I suppose I'll see you at Hogwarts," said the boy. Harry noticed that Draco seemed perturbed that the professor was helping him, but said nothing, turning back to let Madam Malkin finish helping him.

Harry nodded, and followed Professor Snape back to the streets of Hogsmeade.

When they were well away from _Madam Malkin's _(_Robes for All Occasions_), Snape turned to Harry. "I . . . apologize . . . for my treatment of you back there. I wasn't expecting to see Draco, though I should have expected to see some students since school starts soon. His father was a Death Eater. Probably still is even though he is one of the ones who claimed to have been under Imperious. Draco and his like cannot see me treat you nicely, and therefore my demeanor in school, especially classes, may be less than favorable, especially depending on which House you are sorted into. As I told you, I can't let myself be revealed, and being too nice to 'The Boy Who Lived' just wouldn't bode well for me."

Harry nodded. "I understand sir. Snape's lips quirked briefly in what could be considered a smile.

"Harry, this is for you." Snape held a large cage out to Harry.

Harry was so surprised he forgot to call the man 'sir'. "You got me a bird?"

"You're allowed to bring a frog, rat, owl or cat. This is the only item you do not have yet from your letter. Owls are bloody useful; they deliver mail and all sorts of things." He held the caged owl out again. "Take her."

Harry started in amazement at the beautiful caged owl he was presented with. She was a Snowy Owl and the loveliest bird Harry had ever seen. "Sir! This is wonderful! Thank you so much."

"It's just a bloody owl," Snape said, embarrassed.

"It isn't just an owl, sir," Harry said, his head bowed. He looked up suddenly, and Snape was surprised to see tears in the boy's eyes. "It's the first present I've _ever_ gotten."

"Stupid Muggles." Was Snape's only reply, but Harry glimpsed compassion in his eyes before the hardness returned. "Let's go back to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink and snacks before I take you home."

When they entered the tavern, nearly everyone stopped and stared. Severus Snape was a rare enough guest, especially twice in one day, but with a boy no less! Presumably, with all this odd belongings, a Hogwarts students, but still! "Taking the students about their school shopping, now are you, Severus?"


	7. Chapter Seven

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

* * *

Severus whipped his head around when he heard the voice of Lucius Malfoy. 'Bloody hell!' he thought, though his face remained impassive. Severus saw no good way out of this situation and opted for the truth. Any other answer would just bring suspicion anyhow. "Lucius," Snape said with a smirk, "have you met . . . Mr. Potter?" Only a slight lift to Lucius' brow was indicative of his surprise.

A silence fell over the rowdy crowd. Lucius raised an eyebrow at Severus and then leaned over to Harry, roughly pushing Harry's fringe out of the way to expose his scar. "So it is, Severus, so it is." He leaned closer and whispered in the Potions Master's ear. "You work in mysterious ways, Severus, but gain his trust and our Lord will be pleased." Only Severus's long practice of schooling his body not to react to unexpected information kept him still at the elder Malfoy's suggestion that the Dark Lord had returned. Lucius gave Harry another appraising look and swept out of the tavern.

With Malfoy gone, people jumped up from all corners of the room, pushing forward to shake Harry's hand. Harry was flustered and felt himself blush. Prior to today, Snape would have assumed he was cheered by his fame, arrogant like James. But now he knew better. Harry had been abused and when you've gone through that you perceive attention as bad. The less you're seen, the less you're hit. As he backed Harry away from the fervent crowd, a small, nervous man with a turban on his head smiled gingerly at them, but started to back away. Snape caught his eye, and introduced him. "Harry, this is Professor Quirrell. He'll be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Harry wondered about the slight snarl in Professor Snape's voice but smiled pleasantly at the new face.

"Nice to meet you," said Harry, holding out a hand for him to shake. But Quirrell just looked at him and backed off further. A tipsy witch heading to the bar bumped him though and pushed him close to Harry for a moment. Harry winced in pain, but Snape, who wasn't as close, didn't realize it for what it was, and assumed it was the closeness of the crowds in general that had bothered Harry.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

* * *

After apparating back to Privet Drive, Snape handed Harry his ticket for the Hogwarts Express. "I'm going to take most of your supplies with me today. Professor Dumbledore decided that would be for the best considering the . . . recent _pleasantries_ of your relatives. You keep your owl though and send her to . . . me or Professor Dumbledore if those Muggles give you any trouble. Keep one of your school robes too." Snape tapped Harry's belongings that he would be taking with him with his wand, shrinking them to pocket-size items. "The train leaves promptly at eleven o'clock on the morning of September 1st. Do not be late."

"Yes, sir, thank you sir," said Harry, pocketing the ticket. "Thank you again for all your help, and for my owl."

Snape looked down his hooked nose at Harry. "Think nothing of it."

"I can't help it," the boy rambled on, apparently not recognizing Snape's glare for what it was; an unspoken plea for the boy to _shut up_ as Snape did not like emotion, "no one's ever helped me before, or stood up for me before, or talked to me in, you know, a normal conversation, or well, really done much of anything for me before. And then suddenly knowing about my folks after all this time. It's quite a bit to take in."

Snape patted Harry's shoulder awkwardly. "Yes, well . . . look, now, remember what I said about how I may or may not have to treat you in public at school. But you can always come talk to me if you need to; well, if you're in my House."

"What are the Houses anyway?"

"Gryffindor, full of foolish bravery. Slytherin – my house, cunning and very intelligent. Hufflepuff – full of emotion, and Ravenclaw – the intellect and wit. The Sorting Hat will know best where to put you, Harry." Harry would learn later that although not completely wrong, Snape's description of the Houses was slightly biased.

Harry hugged a stunned Potions Master fiercely before letting go to walk back to his aunt and uncle's house. He drew his ticket back out to examine it and discovered it read 'Platform 9 ¾'! "What the?" He whipped back around startling his poor owl, calling out, "Profess . . ." but Snape was gone.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

The Dursley's dropped him off at the station, chortling about his imaginary train, thoroughly glad to be rid of the bloody boy and his ruddy bird which Harry had named Hedwig, a name he'd found in _Hogwarts, a History_. The one book Snape had relented and let Harry keep with him. Harry tried to ask for help, but the station masters were all Muggles and thought Harry was just a prankster. As he ambled along, trying to decide if he should owl Snape, he heard a delightfully cheery voice mention 'Muggles' and '9 ¾'. He turned to see a gaggle of red-headed children, and presumably, their mother, laden down with trunks . . . and an owl! He watched the oldest, and then a set of twins walk right through a brick wall. Before they could all leave, Harry approached them. "Excuse me," he stammered.

"Your first time, is it dear?" Harry nodded, "It's Ron's first year too," the mother said, pointing to a boy Harry's age.

"How do I get to the train?"

"Just go on through that wall and you'll find the Hogwarts Express on the other side. Best to do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous." Harry took her advice and pelted towards the wall. He found himself suddenly in an entirely new station, gasping for breath, staring at a lovely red train that was steaming and ready to go, waiting for all the students to hop aboard. Harry left Hedwig with the other owls, and climbed in to find a seat.

A few minutes later, Ron showed up. "Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full up."

**Author's Note**

_I want to thank my numerous (and some repeat!) reviewers for your sentiments, suggestions and thoughts. I was pleasantly surprised to be notified of so many reviews so soon after I posted the first three chapters. I thank you early-on folks for catching the error that both my beta and I missed regarding the switcheroo with the Leaky Cauldron and the Three Broomsticks. Had one of those "thinking one thing and wrote the other" errors going on! I believe has since accepted the corrected version of Chapter Two._

_Chapter Nine is my last ready-to-go beta-read chapter, but never fear, I am in the process of writing Chapter Ten today (12/14/04). I know how annoying it is to read a great story and have it peter out for months. I've had these thoughts brewing for awhile before I started posting it, so it will just be a matter of getting the story e-mailed to Slave4Severus or getting her over to my house to read the next set of chapters. I'll have the next set up as soon as possible; certainly sometime this week. _

_I know I'd get more reviews if I posted the chapters further apart or took anonymous reviews, but I don't mind. I'm thrilled that those of you that have submitted reviews thus far have, overall, enjoyed my version of HPPS and I hope you will continue to enjoy "Take Two"._

_MysticSong1978_


	10. Chapter Ten

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

**Chapter Ten:**

Harry nodded his head at the boy and indicated that he should take a seat. The redhead gratefully stepped inside and slide the door closed behind him. They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Ron stuck his hand out to Harry.

"Hi, I'm Ron Weasley. Who are you?"

Harry smiled and reached out to shake hands. "I'm Harry Potter."

Ron's mouth dropped open in astonishment. "Blimey! Are you really?"

Harry smiled nervously. "Oh, him, I mean, yes, that's me," he stuttered.

"Do you have the . . . the scar?"

Harry pushed up his fringe to show Ron that he did indeed have the infamous lightning-bolt scar decorating his forehead.

"Wicked," was Ron's reply. "Do you remember anything about it?"

Harry shook his head. "A lot of green light . . . and . . . screaming, but no, not really."

Ron flushed as he suddenly realized how painful his question must have been. "Sorry, Harry, I shouldn't have asked." He returned to gazing out the window, watching the scenery speed by.

"Are all you family wizards?" asked Harry after a moment, finding Ron just as interesting as Ron seemed to find him.

Ron turned back around. "Er – yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mom's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"I bet you know loads of magic already."

The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the unfriendly chap in Diagon Alley had talked about.

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Ron. "What are they like?"

"Horrible – well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers."

"Five," said Ron. For some reason he was looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left – Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone things they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray ray, which was asleep. "His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff – …I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's ears went pink, clashing with his red hair. He seemed to think he'd said too much.

Harry didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, he'd never had any money in his life until a month ago, and he told Ron so, all about having to wear Dudley's old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Ron up.

". . . and until I was told otherwise, I didn't know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort –"

Ron gasped.

"What?" said Harry.

"_You said You-Know-Who's name!"_ said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people –"

"I'm not trying to be _brave_ or anything, saying the name," said Harry, "I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn . . . I bet," he added, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying him a lot lately, "I bet I'm the worst in class."

"You won't be. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough. I bet you'll be great."

"So I've been told," muttered Harry morosely.

"Oh? Who else told you that," asked Ron.

"Professor Snape," said Harry nonchalantly. "What?" he continued, noticing the look on his new friend's face.

"Why were you having anything to do with _him?_"

"Uhm . . . because he rescued me from my relatives house and took me to get my school supplies?" countered Harry, not understanding why Ron seemed so appalled.

"He was nice to you?"

"Well of course he was nice to me!" exclaimed Harry.

"Well he _is_ the head of Slytherin, and you _know_ bad wizards come out of _that_ House. Besides, he's known as the scariest professor at Hogwarts. He favors his own House and treats the others something awful!"

Harry shrugged. Years of experience with his relatives taught Harry to spot arguments that could not be won. This appeared to be one of them. "Well, like I said, I have a lot to learn."

Ron simply snorted.

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

**Chapter Eleven:**

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Harry, who hadn't had any breakfast, leapt to his feet, but Ron's ears went pink again and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches. Harry went out to the corridor.

He had never had any money for candy with the Dursleys, and now that he had pockets rattling with gold and silver, he was ready to buy as many Deep Fried Mars Bars and Cadbury Fingers that he could carry – but the woman didn't have any of these items. What she did have were Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Harry had never seen in his life. Not wanting to miss anything, he got some of everything and paid the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Ron stared as Harry brought it all back in to the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat.

"Hungry, are you?"

"Starving," said Harry, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside. He pulled one of them apart and said, "She always forgets I don't like corned beef."

"Swap you for one of these," said Harry, holding up a pasty. "Go on –"

"You don't want this, it's all dry," said Ron. "She hasn't got much time," he added quickly, "you know, with five of us."

"Go on, have a pasty," said Harry, who had never had anything to share before, or, indeed, anyone to share it with. It was a nice feeling, sitting there with Ron, eating there way through all of Harry's pasties, cakes, and candies as the sandwiches lay happily forgotten.

"What are these?" Harry asked Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. "They're not _really_ frogs, are they?" He was beginning to feel that nothing would surprise him.

"No," said Ron, "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know – Chocolate Frogs have cards inside them, you know, to collect – famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."

"Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

"So _this_ is Dumbledore!" said Harry.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Ron. "Can I have a frog?" he asked, not waiting for an answer to his first question, "I might get Agrippa – thanks—"

Harry turned over his card and read:

**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**

CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore

is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945,

for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on

alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore

enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Harry turned the card back over and saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"He's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Ron. "He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her . . . do you want it? You can start collecting."

Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Help yourself," said Harry. "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos."

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounded amazed. "_Weird!_"

Harry watched in amusement as Dumbledore sidled back into his frame. He smiled at Harry and gave him a quick wink. Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Harry couldn't keep his eyes off them. Soon he had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. He finally tore his eyes away from the druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," Ron warned Harry. "When they say every flavour, they _mean_ every flavor – you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a bogey-flavoured one once."

Ron picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into a corner.

"Bleaaargh – see? Sprouts."

They had a good time eating the Every Flavour Beans. Harry got toast, coconut, baked bean, bacon, jalepeno pepper, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was even brave enough to nibble the end off a funny gray one Ron wouldn't touch, which turned out to be pepper.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy Harry thought he had seen on platform nine and three-quarters came in. He looked tearful.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shook their heads, he wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"I'm sure he'll turn up," Harry said kindly.

"Yes," said the boy miserably, "Well, if you see him . . ."

He left.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," said Ron. "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

The rat was still snoozing on Ron's lap.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," said Ron in disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting to make him more interesting, but he spell didn't work. I'll show you, look . . ."

He rummaged around in his truck and pulled out a very battered looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway –"

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron, but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sat down. Ron looked taken aback.

"Er – all right."

He cleared his throat.

"_Sunshine daisies, butter mellow,_

_Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."_

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and they've all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course. I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard – I've learned all my course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, and who are you?"

She said all this very fast.

Harry looked at Ron, and was relieved to see by his stunned face that he hadn't learnt all the course books by heart either.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron muttered.

"Harry Potter," said Harry.

"Are you really?" said Hermione. "I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

"Am I?" said Harry, feeling dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione.

Harry thought about mentioning that he hadn't been allowed to keep his textbooks with him and had only flipped through _Hogwarts, A History,_ briefly, but given Ron's reaction to his encounter with Professor Snape, he decided not to mention the professor's name again.

Hermione rushed on, not noticing the thoughts as they played across Harry's face. "Do either of you know which house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad . . .Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And she left, taking the toadless boy with her.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. He threw his wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell – George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

"What house are your brothers in?" asked Harry.

"Gryffindor," said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in _Slytherin_."

"That's the house Vold -, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed. "That house is full of bad wizards."

Harry shook his head. Professor Snape didn't seem bad to him. Snarky, certainly, and rather austere, but bad? Certainly not all Slytherins were bad people.

"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter," said Harry, trying to take Ron's mind off houses. "So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?"

Harry was wondering what a wizard did once he'd finished school.

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the _Daily Prophet_, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles – someone tried to rob a high security vault."

Harry stared.

"Really? What happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Harry turned this news over in his mind. He was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. He supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying "Voldemort" without worrying.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

"Er – I don't know any," Harry confessed.

"What!" Ron looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait; it's the best game in the world!" And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money. He was just taking Harry through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville the toadless boy or Hermione Granger this time.

Three boys entered, and Harry recognized the middle one at once; it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop. He was looking at Harry with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

"Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. "And my name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who _you_ are. My father told me all the Weasley's have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sorts are for myself, thanks," he said coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer, you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasley's, and it will rub off on you."

Both Harry and Ron stood up.

"Say that again," Ron said, his face as red as his hair.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneered.

"Unless you get out now," said Harry, more bravely than he felt, because Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than him or Ron.

"But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron – Ron leapt forward, but before he'd so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell.

Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle's knuckle – Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, howling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and the window, all three of them disappeared at once. Perhaps they thought there were more rats lurking among the sweets, or perhaps they'd heard footsteps, because a second later, Hermione Granger had come in.

"What _has _been going on?" she said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail.

"I think he's been knocked out," Ron said to Harry. He looked closer at Scabbers. "No – I don't believe it – he's gone back to sleep."

And so he had.

"You've met Malfoy before?"

Harry explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of his family," said Ron darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." He turned to Hermione. "Can we help you with something?"

Harry pondered what Ron had told him. Draco did seem to be awfully rude, but that didn't mean he would follow in his Father's footsteps. Despite his initial views of the younger Malfoy, Harry grudgingly decided to himself that he would wait to pass further judgment. He was quite enjoying Ron's friendship, but he had the feeling that Ron had his own prejudices to overcome. Everything here was new to Harry and he thought it best to start off on the right foot with everyone; or at least as well as he could. He wondered at Ron's preemptory tone towards Hermione. True, she seemed the bossy sort, but she was coming into Hogwarts as blind as he was. Even if it did appear that she already knew everything.

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on," Hermione was saying, "I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

Harry smiled at Hermione and sank back into his seat. He tried to collect the scattered treats while Ron continued his surly behaviour. "Scabbers has been fighting, not us," said Ron, scowling at her. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

"All right – I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," said Hermione in a sniffy voice. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Ron glared at her as she left. Harry peered out of the window. It was getting dark. He could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down.

He and Ron took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes. Ron's were a bit short for him; you could see his sneakers underneath hem.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry' stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looked pale under his freckles. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then came a lamp bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a booming voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

A giant of a man came into view. "C'mon, follow me – anymore firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed the huge man down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so far on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," he called out, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Ooooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat," the man called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione.

"Everyone in?" shouted their guide, who had a boat to himself, much to the relief of the students. "Right then – FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled the guide as the first boats reach the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" the man boomed, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock, coming out last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

He raised a gigantic first and knocked three times on the castle door.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Yes, I know some chapters are -similar- to the book, but I have tried to add in my own bits into the chapters that I felt essentially needed to be the same as the original. --_MysticSong_--


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

The immense door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that, like Professor Snape, this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said the giant.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursley's house in it. Possibly twice. The stone walls were lit with flaming sconces like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school must already be here – but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

Harry was relieved to hear that _all_ the houses had produced noble wizards. Or that all the houses were noble with outstanding wizards. Either way, it reaffirmed his belief that not all of any one house could be bad.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left hear, and on Ron's smudged cheek. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair.

"I shall return for you when we are ready," said Professor McGonagall."

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Harry's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But he didn't know any magic yet – what on earth would he have to do? Why didn't Professor Snape tell him this? Why didn't he let him keep something besides an old history book? Harry hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived. He looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified too. Even Draco. Harry took heart at this. No one was talking much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she learned and wondering which one she'd need. Harry tried hard not to listen to her. He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursley's saying he'd somehow jumped on top of the school. 'Hmmm….' Now that he was thinking about it, Harry realized he must have apparated out of desperation. He'd have to ask Professor Snape about that sometime. Harry kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air – several people behind him screamed.

"What the –?"

He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. "One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and they walked out of the chamber back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where teachers were sitting. Harry felt somewhat relieved to see Professor Snape's dark form at the table, even if he had neglected to mention what went on in the Sorting Ceremony to Harry; it was someone he knew! Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_."

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

'_Maybe they had to try to get a rabbit out of it,'_ Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing – noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim of the hat opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing:

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me one! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry. "I'll kill Fred; he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking a lot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him. And a lot of other first-years, he was sure, looking at the expressions around him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and say down. A moment's pause –

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers cat-calling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harry's imagination, after all he'd heard about Slytherin, but despite his vow to be non-judgmental, he found them to be a rather unpleasant-looking lot.

He was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered how he had always been picked last for anything at school.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Ron groaned.

A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just say there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been some sort of mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to job back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren't many people left now.

"Moon" . . . , "Nott" . . . , "Parkinson" . . . , then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil". . , then "Perks, Sally-Anne" . . . , and then, at last –

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Lots of heart. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting. . . . So where shall I put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, "_Please don't send me home!_"

"No fear of that," said the small voice. "You will be great, Mr. Potter, but I think you'll be best in SLYTHERIN!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Slytherin table. He was so relieved to have been chosen for one of the houses that he failed to notice the utter silence from everyone in hall.

Professor McGonagall tried not to look horrified. She had been sure that the sweet little boy she remembered Hagrid rescuing from Godric's Hollow would be in her house, not Severus's. What had happened? The hat was never wrong, but surely there something amiss in this placement. Harry's parents had both been Gryffindors and usually a child followed their parents.

Professor Snape was gobsmacked, although years of training concealed this fact from everyone present, except perhaps for Albus Dumbledore whose eyes twinkled with mischief at Harry's sorting.

The Gryffindors were quite put out. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw didn't seem to know what to think. Slytherin, after getting over their shock at the boy who brought down the Dark Lord being put in their house – though perhaps in that light it made some sort of sense – did a brief un-Slytherin like thing: in a rare show of emotion, they cheered wildly, "_We got Potter!_"

Ron groaned again.

Harry sat down across from a nasty looking ghost who was coated in what appeared to be silver bloodstains. A boy next to him whispered that it was The Bloody Baron. Draco Malfoy was on his other side, looking at him with a decidedly appraising look.

Harry could see High Table properly now. At the end furthest from him sat the giant of a man he now knew to be Hagrid. Hagrid caught his eye and gave him a brief smile. Harry smiled back nervously. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young professor from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a black boy even taller than Ron, joined the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ton's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry clapped loudly as Ron collapsed into the chair next to Hermione.

He could see another redhead patting Ron's shoulder in a somewhat pompous manner as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he – a bit mad?" he wondered aloud, a bit uncertainly.

"Mad?" said the boy on Harry's other side. "Of course he's mad! Great wizard, but a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. The boy next to him smirked and offered his hand. "I'm Marcus," the older, rather burly boy said, "Marcus Flint. Welcome to Slytherin. I've got to say, this is . . . quite a surprise."

Harry couldn't tell if Marcus thought it was a _good_ surprise or not that he had been sorted into Slytherin, but he smiled gamely at Marcus. Unless it seemed otherwise, Harry decided he would go with the assumption that the other people at his table actually wanted him around. And if not? Well, at least he was used to that.

He turned back to his plate as more food appeared. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, catsup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry . . . well . . . okay they _had_ barely fed him enough to keep a small pet alive, if he was going to be honest with himself. This wasn't helped by the fact that Dudley had always taken anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made him sick. Coupled with the beatings he suffered from time to time, he was considerably underweight compared to his age-mates. As he contemplated the offerings, he noticed a small vial in front of him; it was the nutritional potion the professor had promised and he drank it down as instructed before he began to serve himself. Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious. He wondered how Ron and Hermione were faring at the Gryffindor table. He chanced a look over his shoulder and found them talking to a ghost who seemed much more jovial than The Bloody Baron. The Gryffindor ghost suddenly pulled his head to one side and Harry realized someone had tried to decapitate him but hadn't quite managed the task. It was enough to put one off eating and Harry quickly turned back his plate.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding . . .

Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, and focused in on the conversation at his table.

Draco was going on and on about how his Father promised him the newest broom, but not until _next_ year. "He said it would look odd if I had a broom my first year. Mother was perfectly willing to send me off to school with one, but Father said no, that we must lay low for now, just to be safe. He's even taken to selling some of his possessions off, you know, what with the Ministry making those surprise searches," he said dramatically.

Down the table a bit, one of the ugliest girls he had ever seen was talking with an older girl about Draco and other boys that they considered to be good matches. "Of course," Harry heard the older girl say, "It doesn't really matter much if your parents insist on an arranged marriage."

He turned back towards Marcus, who was still eating, so he turned his gaze on the High Table. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to Professor Snape.

It happened suddenly. Quirrell moved his chair slightly towards the Slytherin table as Professor Snape looked past the turban and straight into Harry's eyes – and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"What is it?" asked Draco, a bit of a smirk trying to cover up his unexpected concern towards Harry.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling he had gotten when he had made eye contact with Snape . . . right after Quirrell had moved closer to his table. And . . . now that he thought about it, he had felt a similar shock upon being pushed closed to Quirrell in the tavern. He had assumed it was his shot nerves from being so close to so many new people, but now he wondered. _'But,'_ he thought to himself, _'Quirrell seems like such a nervous man, what could he possibly have to do with the pain in my scar?'_ He noticed Snape glancing between Harry and Quirrell and wondered what conclusions the man had come to. He shook his head and turned back to his dessert.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem – just a few words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

"He's not serious?" he muttered to Marcus.

"Must be," said the boy across from Marcus, as he frowned at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere – the forest is full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that, I do think he might have told us prefects, at least." He nodded to Harry. "I'm Terrence Higgs."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot."_

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped the loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Slytherin first years followed Terrence through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down a narrow staircase. Harry's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy to even be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Terrence lead them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries.

They descended more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

They were facing a tract of bare, damp stone wall.

"Purus Corpus," said Terrence, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. They strode through it, and found themselves in the Slytherin Common Room. A damp, rather chilly room, with dark leather couches, several green lamps, green and silver drapes with snakes coiling around their edges, and a blazing fireplace – although it didn't seem to give off much warmth, and two staircases leading down; one towards the boys' and one towards the girls' dormitories.

At the bottom of the boys' staircase, Harry found himself in a narrow hallway lit by sconces near the ceiling. The first year's room was large, with each bed nestled into a private nook, each boy's trunk at the foot of the bed, and curtains around each of their areas. Thick green blankets and silver quilts layered each bed to help ward off the chills of the dungeon. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed.

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to him, praising his Sorting into Slytherin. It got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully – and there was Ron, laughing at him as he struggled with it – then Ron turned into McGonagall, whose laugh became high and cold – there was a burst of green light and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.

He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke the next day, he didn't remember the dream at all.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

_Author's Note_

_This chapter picks up immediately after Harry has been sorted into Slytherin and is from Ron's point of view. Also, if you didn't already guess, the Slytherin password 'Purus Corpus' is Latin for Pure Body'. Chapters 4 and 12 have been updated with a few changes and re-submitted._

_MysticSong1978_

**Chapter Thirteen:**

Ron groaned again. Harry . . . a _Slytherin?_ How did _that happen_? He just couldn't fathom it. He was _friends_ with a _Slytherin_?! He looked up at Professor McGonagall. He knew from his brothers that she was the Head of Gryffindor. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her face set. Evidently he wasn't the only one that had expected the kind boy to be in Gryffindor, or, well, any place but _Slytherin_.

Ron shook his head slowly, as if to clear his mind. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he nearly missed his own sorting. Not that Harry's placement made him any less nervous. In fact, he now wondered about his own situation. What would his family think if he wasn't in Gryffindor?

His name was finally called, and, resigning himself to his fate, trudged forward and placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

"Aha," said the hat's tinny voice, "Another Weasley is it? Well there's no doubt where _you_ belong! It's got to be GRYFFINDOR!"

Ron grinned as he took the hat off, placed it on the stool, and raced to join his brothers. In his relief, he gave no further thought to Harry. At least for the time being.

Percy, in his ever pompous way, patted his shoulder, congratulating him for his Sorting into Gryffindor. Ron smiled, a bit uneasily at Percy. One could never be sure what sort of response he'd make about something, and turned to meet his housemates.

They were all talking about Harry.

"Can you believe it?" exclaimed Dean. I bet his parents are rolling! Everyone knows the Potters were always Gryffindors! What did those Muggles do to him do you suppose?"

"Is it really all that bad that he's in Slytherin?" asked Hermione? You heard Professor McGonagall say that all the houses have a noble histo—"

"All that bad?" exclaimed Ron. "Cor! . . are you nutters? Of course it's bad! Noble history my . . . dark and evil history is more like it!"

Hermione sniffed. "Obviously you've never read _Hogwarts, A History_. Many fine wizards came out of _all_ the houses. Slytherin just has always gotten a bad wrap because it's symbolized with a snake. But snakes aren't really _evil_ creatures. They actually symbolize fertility and –"

"Give it a rest, will you?" asked Percy. "Really, fighting already on your first night here. So undignified. Percy shook his head at the first years in his overbearing manner.

Ron sighed. "Really, though, do you think something happened when You-Know-Who tried to curse him as a baby?"

Gryffindor table was full of rumors and whisperings. Hermione looked as if she felt that this bit of information should be obvious, and that maybe Ron couldn't that much of a prat because he at least had the right idea in mind, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

Percy suddenly shushed them when the Headmaster got up to make his start-of-year speech.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Neville didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he – a bit mad?" he wondered aloud, a bit uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Percy. "Of course he's mad! The greatest wizard you'll ever meet, but a bit mad, yes."

The first years started in surprise as the plates in front of them filled with food. More food than most of them had seen in one place before. Ron's eyes twinkled with as much glee as the Headmaster's had when Harry was sorted. He filled up his plate with nearly everything that was offered and began to pack it in.

Hermione sniffed.

The conversation turned to their families.

"I'm half-n'-half," said Seamus. "Me Dad's a Muggle. Mam's a witch. Didn't tell him until after they were married. Bit o' a nasty shock for him!"

"Sort of like _Bewitched_?" said Hermione, drawing blank looks from much of the table. "Muggle television show," she said as if that would clear things up.

Seamus laughed. "Ne'er thought of it like that, Hermione, but you could say that. Without the nasty mother-in-law though!"

'_Fellyvision?'_ wondered Ron.

"What about you, Hermione?"

"All Muggle-born," she told him. "My parents are dentists. I was ever so surprised when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased. Hogwarts _is_ the best school of –"

Ron sighed. Not _that_ again. He tuned out the bossy, bushy-haired girl and found a ghost next to him, watching him eat with a plaintive expression on his face. "That looks delicious," the ghost sighed.

"Can't you eat?" asked Neville, who was watching the ghost as well.

"No, nigh on 400 years now. But I can remember. . ."

"Who are you?" asked Neville.

"I am Sir Nicho—"

"I know who _you_ are," exclaimed Ron suddenly, drawing Hermione and Seamus's attention. "You're Nearly Headless Nick!"

The ghost huffed. "I prefer to be called Sir Nicholas d—"

"Nearly Headless? How can anyone be _Nearly_ Headless?" questioned Seamus.

The ghost sighed. This was _not_ going the way he wanted it to. "Like _this_!" he said in exasperation, pulling his head to the side to show where someone hadn't quite finished the job of decapitating him.

"Bleaaargh!" came from much of the table. As Ron turned to go back to his dinner, he caught sight of Harry watching Nick with a bit of a smile on his face. Ron noticed that the Slytherin ghost wasn't nearly as welcoming looking. He gave Harry a small wave and turned back to finish his meal.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding . . .

Ron helped himself to an éclair. "How can you _possibly_ have room for _any_ more food?" exclaimed Hermione.

Ron shrugged. "It's a guy thing," said Dean, swallowing his second doughnut.

Hermione just shook her head.

Ron looked around the Great Hall to see what was going on at the other tables. In his second sweep of the room, he noticed Snape glancing between Harry and Quirrell and wondered what was going on. In his opinion, Snape looked positively evil. He shook his head and turned back to his dessert. Poor Harry. Stuck with that git for his Head of House.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem – just a few words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you this year; the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Neville laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

"He's not serious?" he muttered to Percy.

"Must be," said Percy, as he frowned at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere – the forest is full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that, I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Ron noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot."_

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped the loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, and out of the Great Hall. "Excuse me!" Percy called, "First years coming through!" They exited the hall and climbed up the colossal marble staircase they had noticed when they first entered the castle, yawning and dragging their feet, and Ron was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in the air above them. One of them flew over the heads of the students, the taller ones ducking frantically. "Peeves!" bellowed Percy, "show yourself!"

A mischievous looking spirit came into view. "Peeves is a poltergeist and loves to cause trouble," Percy informed the first years. "Only the Slytherin ghost can control him." He turned to face Peeves, "Kindly remove yourself and leave the students alone, Peeves – or do you want me to call The Bloody Baron?"

Peeves swooped around the students, blew a raspberry at Percy and dove through a wall, dropping the remaining sticks on the floor. They followed Percy up several more staircases until they were outside of Gryffindor Tower. A portrait of an enormous woman guarded the entrance.

"Password?" asked the Fat Lady.

"Caput Draconis," said Percy. The portrait slowly swung forward to reveal a round hole which they all scrambled through. Neville needed a hand to get in, not being quite tall enough to make it on his own.

The common room was decorated in lovely shades of red or burgundy and gold. A crackling fire gently warmed the circular room, and lights twinkled from the walls. Soft couches and chairs sat around the room in a manner that invited groups to sit together cozily and chat the night away. Plush rugs helped keep away the chill from the stone floor. Two doors led out to the dormitories which were separated by gender and then broken down by year.

At the top of the boys' staircase, Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean found themselves in a wide hallway lit by sconces near the ceiling. The first year's room was large and airy, each boy's trunk at the foot of their bed, and curtains around each of their areas. Thick red blankets and gold quilts layered each bed to help ward off the chills that inevitably came when one lived in a stone castle. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

_Author's Note_

_I am aware that chapters 12 & 13 were quite similar. This was necessary in order to show the viewpoint of Harry's Sorting result from other people. Ron may or may not befriend Harry; that remains to be seen. Harry knows Ron has prejudices of his own to sort out, coming from a purebred family of the poorer sort. Ron has shown that he is horrified, but remembering the Harry who befriended him on the train, he does at least smile at his potential new friend. Where he goes from there is up to him. I haven't figured out what direction he wants to go yet, but I've been pondering several ideas. Along with this story, I am also in the process of co-authoring another HP story with Slave4Severus. As she is also working on her own HP story, that new one may be slower in coming, but the first chapter is now available under the title "Duck Duck Goose!". _

_MysticSong1978_

**

* * *

****Chapter Fourteen:**

Harry groaned. The dungeons were bad enough with their dark tunnels and corridors that came to a dead-end for no apparent reason that he could see. No, that wasn't enough to befuddle the first-years. The staircases moved as well; and there were one-hundred and forty two of them! The grand marble one probably was stationary, but as far as Harry could tell, the rest of them moved around as they pleased. Some had trick steps that disappeared, and if you stepped in one, your foot got caught; some only went to certain places on certain days. This made it extremely difficult to learn your weekly schedule. The portraits would help some students and not others; which you could never be totally sure of. Harry noticed that Nearly Headless Nick was happy to point his House's lost students in the right direction, but the Bloody Baron, well, he was bloody unhelpful, that one! Peeves was no help at all; especially if you were lost. He'd give you directions, alright, but they usually led you to a trick door or a staircase pointing in the wrong direction from which you needed to go. Harry despaired of ever knowing where he was going inside of Hogwarts.

Draco, having grown up in a wizard manor, was a little more familiar with the tricks that Hogwarts tended to pull on its occupants, but Harry was used to getting up early, thanks to the Dursley's forcing him to cook breakfast and such all those years, so Draco was usually still asleep when Harry headed off to the Great Hall.

Draco wasn't quite sure what to make of Harry being sorted into Slytherin, although inside he felt quite gleeful, his Malfoy mask would never reveal his feelings to others. Harry had apologized for his words on the train and said he'd been nervous and wanted to make a fresh start. He didn't know much about the wizarding world and felt that he should wait to judge people – and made it very clear that this included people in _every_ House – until he got to know them better. In a way it was a very Gryffindor thing to do, but Draco could see elements of Slytherin planning in it, and nodded. He would bide his time to see what Harry would decide; in the meantime he would help Harry when he could. It never hurt to have someone like Harry on your side; no matter what side in life that may end up being.

The trick staircases, walls, doors, and Peeves weren't the only thing Harry had to put up with, however. The moment he stepped out of the dungeons, unfortunately by himself as Draco was still asleep, he heard the whispers start.

"There, look, you see?"

"Where?"

"Coming from the dungeons. The small boy with the messy hair!"

"Do you see his scar?"

Harry heard them everywhere he went. From his Muggle schooling, he was used to being made fun of, but this was different. They were pointing him out, but more with a sense of awe, then anything else, although Harry suspected some disgruntled feelings from the Gryffindors who were sure he'd been unjustly sorted into the wrong house.

Ron was having no better luck finding his way down from Gryffindor Tower. Hermione had hurried on ahead, not that he wanted that bushy-haired know-it-all hanging around him, blimey was she annoying, but, he supposed, some help, even from her, would have been nice.

Unfortunately for Ron, he made an enemy out of Argus Filch, the school's caretaker, and his cat, Mrs. Norris the first day. Ron had to wonder about that Mrs. bit . . . _animagus?_ He was trying to get through a door that wouldn't budge. Filch found him and demanded to know why he was trying to get into the forbidden third floor. 'Just my luck,' thought Ron. He was trying to explain, and getting nowhere, that he was simply lost, when Professor Quirrell happened by and saved him. Later, Ron would relate the experience to others and find no good rationalization for Quirrell to have been there at all, but for now, he was simply grateful.

Harry, along with several Muggle-borns, with the possible exception of Hermione, soon realized there was a lot more to doing magic than one would first think. And not all the classes were anything resembling fun; or even _interesting_ for that matter.

He wondered sleepily how he'd ever make it through the weekly midnight meetings for Astronomy for planetary and constellation mapping. Three times a week he had Herbology with a stout little witch named Professor Sprout; an apt name for the woman. He learned all about fungi and plants and other items that were useful in many different ways, especially with potion brewing.

History of Magic was easily the most lackluster class of them all. Professor Binns was a ghost who didn't seem to realize he was dead. He droned on and on in every class, never noticing the students were half-asleep.

Then there was tiny Professor Flitwick, the Charms professor, who, when he called Harry's name in class, squeaked excitedly and rolled off of his desk. Harry and Draco hid smirks behind their hands.

Transfiguration, the art of transforming one object into another, was taught by Professor McGonagall. Harry knew his first observation of her was correct; this was _not_ a teacher to cross! Like many Muggle teachers Harry had had, she gave them a strict talking-to the first day of class before getting started. She seemed no less pleased than she did after Harry's Sorting and watched him carefully throughout class; for what, exactly, Harry wasn't sure. It was unnerving, though, and he wished she'd give it a rest.

After watching Professor McGonagall transform her desk into a pig and back, they worked excitedly, although their Slytherin masks revealed nothing, on transfiguring toothpicks into sewing needles. By the end of class, Harry's was silver and quite sharp, although it was still a toothpick and Draco had a needle-shaped toothpick. Professor McGonagall graced them with what for all purposes appeared to be a smile, but it was clear she wasn't happy with the Sorting and that she didn't trust the Slytherins very much. 'So much for her spiel on all the Houses having noble histories,' thought Draco. 'She obviously didn't believe it.'

Harry and Draco had looked forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts, although Draco professed to already know a number of hexes, but the class was altogether a joke. Although as smooth as glass . . . perhaps with a few bumps in it, when taking roll, even trying to bait Harry with, "Ah, Mr. P-Potter, our n-new _celebrity_," Quirrell stuttered and stammered every sentence of the actual class period. The room smelled strongly of garlic and Quirrell wore a hideous purple turban around his head which smelled even worse. Harry and Draco sat in the back to avoid the man as much as possible. When they were leaving the classroom, however, Harry passed within a few yards of the professor and felt a repeat of the sharp stabbing pain he'd experienced at the Welcome Feast. He shrugged it off as they headed to lunch, but thought perhaps he should mention it to his Head of House when he got a chance. Something about Quirrell didn't sit well with Harry, and from the looks he saw Professor Snape shoot at Quirrell during the Feast, he had a feeling his Head of House concurred.

Over the course of the first week, Harry was relieved to find out he really wasn't that far behind the other students as a whole. There was a lot of information to learn, and many of the wizard-born children were no better off than he. Aside from knowing more about Harry than he himself seemed to.

Friday was exciting; they would finally learn how to fly. Aside from the wand, this was what Harry was really looking forward to. They were paired up with Gryffindor House for flying, and Harry thought perhaps he'd be able to gauge Ron's opinion of him. Who know if his house-mates had already helped him make up his mind? That would be unfortunate as Harry had taken a liking to him.

Standing next to their brooms, they followed Madam Hooch's directions and commanded the brooms, "Up!"

Harry and Draco's ricocheted into their hands. They grinned at each other. Ron's jumped up, but whacked him on the head. "Bloody school brooms," Harry heard the redhead mutter. Hermione's broom rolled over but otherwise stayed in place. Neville's just laid there. From what Harry had heard of Neville's exploits, this was probably just as well. They had Double Potions that day with the Gryffindors and Harry was not looking forward to finding out if Neville's clumsiness with life in general would carry over into that particular delicate art.

Finally, through help from Madam Hooch, everyone was holding a broomstick. Madam Hooch got them into position and instructed them as to what they were supposed to do for their initial test. Neville, however, nervous and clumsy as always, managed to kick off – hard – and shot straight up into the air. The broom, apparently they could sense the mood of their rider's much in the way a horse does, was flinging Neville from side to side as if it wanted nothing better than to unseat its unfortunate rider.

It didn't take long for Neville to pass out and slip unceremoniously from his broom, plummeting in an ungraceful free-fall towards the ground. Harry didn't stop to think. He kicked off as well and soared into the air, out of range from Madam Hooch's horrified shouts – both at Neville's accident and Harry for trying to save him. Harry, however, was in heaven. He'd finally found something he instinctively knew how to do. Flying was _great_. Hermione was watching him a bit nervously and Draco was grinning, uncharacteristically showing everyone just how he felt.

Swift as anything, Harry intercepted Neville's descent and carefully flew them both back to the ground. Madam Hooch just gaped at him before she recovered her wits. "Fifty points to Slytherin for quick thinking and most excellent broommanship," exclaimed Hooch. Harry grinned. "I'm going to take Mr. Longbottom to the infirmary just to be safe. The rest of you put up your brooms. We'll continue this lesson next week." Unknown to Harry, Madam Hooch also stopped by Professor Snape's office after seeing to Neville, and alerting him to the fact that he had a potential Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch Team; he'd just need to get the boy permission to have his own broomstick. Knowing Severus's joy in beating the other Houses, especially Minerva's Gryffindors, she was sure he wouldn't mind petitioning Albus for that favour.

As the students were putting away their brooms, Ron kept shooting glances at Harry. Harry noticed this and told Draco he'd catch up with him for a quick snack before their next class. When the rest of the Slytherins were gone, Ron caught up with Harry. "Why'd you do it, Harry?" he asked the smaller boy, "he's not even in your House."

Harry looked coolly back at Ron. Perhaps the Gryffindors had already swayed the mind of his very first friend. 'Just like Dudley would have done', he thought sadly. "What difference does it make," Harry replied instead, "he doesn't deserve the injuries he was sure to get if he'd hit the ground from that height because of what House he is in. No one does."

"Harry's right, Ron," came a girl's voice. The bushy-haired girl . . . Hermione, that was it, was now standing next to Ron, looking somewhat appraisingly at Harry.

Ron looked ready to make a scathing reply at the girl . . . maybe it wasn't his housemates views, perhaps the boy just had trouble interacting with people he thought might look down on him.

"Hullo, Hermione," Harry said to the girl, giving her a sweet smile.

"Hullo, Harry, how are you?"

"Fairing pretty well; it's sure a lot easier to get around out here than it is in that castle though! Cor! The dungeons are a bloody maze! Make sure you give yourselves plenty of time to get down to Potions!" This last bit to both Ron and Hermione.

"I heard Snape –"

"_Professor_ Snape," Hermione chided gently.

Ron sighed. "I heard he favoured his own house. Is it true? Our _Professor_ McGonagall sure doesn't favour us at all. She gave us loads of homework already!"

Harry shrugged. "I really haven't had any interaction with Professor Snape other than when he helped me get my school items. He welcomed us to Slytherin after the first bit of excitement had worn down, and explained some things to us, but I haven't had Potions yet. First class is today with your House. I guess we'll see this afternoon."

"Harry," Ron said, "_why_ were you sorted into _Slytherin_?" He looked ill at the mere word.

Hermione shook her head at Harry; he winked at her. "The Sorting Hat told me I'd do best in Slytherin, so it put me there. I've come to understand that a lot of . . . well, just about everyone, was surprised because my parents were both Gryffindors, but I didn't grow up with them. I grew up with Muggles who _hated_ magic, who told me my parents were shiftless and alcoholics and that they died in a car accident!" blustered Harry.

"Do you think your Muggle family had anything to do with your House placement, Harry? Directly or indirectly?" questioned Hermione gently.

"I really don't know." Harry shrugged. "But there's nothing wrong with being in Slytherin." Harry cut Ron off before he could speak, "I know that they have a bad reputation, and I know _why_ they have a bad reputation, but that doesn't mean the entire House is to blame," he said to Ron, a bit frostily. "Look," he said, his tone softening, "I told Draco that I was wrong for what I said on the train," he held up a hand to stop Ron again, "and I said it because I was. I didn't know Draco; _about_ him, sure, but I didn't know him and neither, really, do you, Ron. We know speculations; that's really what we know about everyone here, unless they're your family members or people you grew up playing with. I'm pretty sure Draco wasn't one of your childhood cohorts!" Ron gave Harry a tiny smile but shrugged impatiently.

"Ron, all I'm saying is to give people a chance. Look what I came from and I'm willing to do it." Harry fixed a pointed stare on Ron. "I quite enjoyed our train ride in together, Ron. You're the first person I could ever really call a friend, and I hope that the Sorting Ceremony doesn't come between us. It's up to you. I know you may need some time to think things through, so you don't have to say anything right now. I hope we'll be still be friends . . . but . . ." Harry shrugged, not wanting to say he'd understand if Ron turned against him, because he wouldn't. He'd subconsciously attribute it to his own lack of worth, long instilled by the Dursley's, but he wouldn't really understand. "See you guys in Potions."

Harry turned and headed towards the Great Hall for his long awaited snack. He heard quick steps behind him and turned to see Hermione scampering towards him. He stopped and waited.

"Harry," Hermione panted, "I don't know what Ron's going to decide, but I wanted to tell you that I'll stand by you no matter what." She smiled at him.

Harry smiled back. "Thank you, Hermione. Maybe you'll rub off on Ron."

Hermione patted his hand and went back to Ron, talking insistently to him and gesticulating wildly with her hands. Ron, Harry noticed, looked as if he were trying to keep from telling the girl off. Harry rolled his eyes.

Once in the Great Hall he barely had enough time to eat before racing down to his rooms to collect his books for Potions. _Double_ Potions with the _Gryffindors_.

Potions took place in the dungeons, of course. The classroom was rather chilly, no doubt in order to preserve the more fragile ingredients. Altogether it was a bit creepy. 'At least it doesn't smell quite as horrid as the Apothecary does,' thought Harry.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking roll. Unlike Flitwick and Quirrell, he did not react to Potter's name. Of course, he'd had more time to get used to the boy than the rest of Hogwarts had, though very few people knew about their trip to Diagon Alley.

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. How could Harry stand to be in _Snape's_ House? The man had cold black eyes and was, well, just nasty, thought Ron, with his greasy hair, sallow complexion and crooked, yellow teeth.

Unbeknownst to Ron, some of his thoughts showed clearly on his face; Snape noticed this.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish-wand waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Silence followed his speech. Harry and Draco smirked. Hermione, sitting closer to the Slytherins than the Gryffindors (which didn't bode well for Ron's feelings towards Harry), was on the edge of her seat looking quite desperate to prove herself. Ron raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

"Weasley!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Ron, startled out of his complacency, an attitude that would only cause him further troubles in the class, bolted upright. 'Crikey,' thought Ron. 'What did he say? Powdered what of what to what?'

Hermione's hand shot into the air. Ron shrugged, "I don't know, sir."

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Pity." He ignored Hermione for the time being. "Let's try again. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione was practically dancing in her chair in an effort to be noticed. She had edged further away from Ron. The Slytherins, Harry aside, were shaking with mirth.

"I don't know, sir."

"Going to follow in your brother's trouble-making footsteps, are you Weasley?" He turned suddenly, swooping in on Hermione.

"What is the difference, Miss Granger, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"They are the same plant, sir, which also goes by the name of aconite. If used incorrectly, it can cause death, but the reaction time is anywhere from a few minutes to an hour, depending on the way it reacts with the victim's body, and depending on what else was in the potion."

Snape nodded imperceptibly. "I assume you know the answers to the other questions I asked your housemate?"

Hermione didn't dare look at Ron. "Asphodel and Wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful that it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone or hairball taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons."

"Very good, Miss Granger. Are you sure you're in the right House?" Snake said with a smirk. "Ten points to Gryffindor." There was a startled pause. "Well, why aren't you all writing this down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for parchment and quills.

With the exception of Hermione, whom Snape seemed to tolerate, things continued to go downhill for the Gryffindors. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a relatively simple potion to cure boils. He swept around the room, black cloak billowing behind him, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy and Potter, who were working nicely together.

Professor Snape was just instructing the class to look at the perfect way that the Potter-Malfoy potion was simmering when Seamus's cauldron exploded with a loud BANG! Acrid green smoke hung in the hair, the potion splattered across the room, dousing everything in its path, burning shoes, clothes, and skin.

Neville, who had been completely drenched when the potion detonated, was quickly sprouting painfully large boils all over his body.

"Idiot boy," growled Snape, clearing the mess away with a wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills _before_ taking the cauldron off of the fire?"

Neville just whimpered. Seamus wasn't fairing much better, though he'd managed to duck, sparing his face from the noxious brew. "Take him up to the infirmary," Snape spat at Seamus. "Anyone else who was hit should go with them." He rounded on Ron and Dean. "You – Weasley – why didn't you tell him what to do? Thought you'd make up for how foolish you looked this morning by having your potion turn out correctly when Longbottom's did not? Five points from Gryffindor!"

Ron stupidly opened his mouth to retaliate. "But that's not _fair_," Ron whined. "Seamus was his partner, I didn't even see what he did!"

"Another five points from Gryffindor for talking back to a professor and another three for not using a respectful title!" snarled Snape.

Dean kicked Ron under the able before he could say anything else to further besmirch their House in Snape's eyes.

Harry sighed. Ron could be quite a git. Despite Harry's notion of giving everyone a fair shake, and his own feelings of friendship, Ron was making it very hard to be likable.

Snape stalked up to his desk and faced the class. "Those of you who were not afflicted by Longbottom and have finished brewing should bottle your potion and bring it up to my desk for evaluation. Class dismissed!"

Harry waited for everyone to leave; Draco had carefully bottled their work and left it on the professor's desk, leaving Harry to clean up and wait for their Head of House to acknowledge him.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, what is it?" Snape said, rather shortly. Still visibly irate at the hapless Longbottom.

"Professor Snape," Harry began, "during the Welcoming Feast I felt a strange pain in my head – where my scar is – when I made eye contact with Professor Quirrell. When I thought about it further, I realized it was the same pain I felt in the tavern when I got shoved close to him."

Severus looked up at Harry at this. "I remember that. I thought it was just claustrophobia at the time, but then I noticed a similar reaction from you during the feast. There's something off-putting about that man, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

Harry nodded. "Yes, I feel the same way, although I suppose I don't know enough about this world to draw enough conclusions. I had the pain again after the first DADA class when Draco and I walked by him to get out of the room."

Snape pondered this. "I will think on this Harry. I appreciate you informing me about your reaction to _Professor_ Quirrell."

Harry inclined his head, gathered his belongings, and headed back to the Slytherin Common room to update Draco.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

_Author's Note_

_Happy New Year! I hope you enjoy! My other story that is being co-written with Slave4Severus (if you haven't read her own HP/OC 'Potions: What would a girl do without them' story yet you are missing out!) called Duck . . . Duck . . . Goose which you can find under my profile has also been updated as of 01/01/2005. In reading chapter 15 over the phone to my beta, we found a few errors which have been corrected in this re-posting._

_MysticSong1978

* * *

_

**Chapter Fifteen: **

Later that day, Professor Snape swooped into the Slytherin Common Room to talk with Harry.

"Madam Hooch told me about your excellent flying skills during your first lesson the other day. I'd like you to meet with Marcus and myself tonight on the pitch and see if you'd make a good seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team. Our seeker graduated last year and we haven't found a good replacement for him yet. I don't want to lose the House Cup – we've won it for several years in a row now."

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir, I'd love to see what else I can do on a broom. It came so naturally to me. What time should I be there?"

Snape turned and called over to Marcus who was sitting by the fire. "Mr. Flint, is seven o'clock good for you?"

"Yes, Professor, I'll have everything ready."

"Good, we'll meet you then." He turned back to Harry. "Don't be late."

"No, sir."

* * *

That night Marcus practiced hard with Harry. He wouldn't let him practice with the actual snitch – Madam Hooch would kill them if they lost it – but he threw tons of other balls that were approximately the same size as the snitch as high and fast as he could into the night sky. Harry didn't miss one of them. 

"Now you have to understand, Harry," said Marcus after he'd landed, "it will be much harder during an actual game because of all the other players, the other team's seeker vying for the snitch with you, the bludgers which the other team's beaters will whack at us, and so forth. Do you have a good grasp of the rules?"

"I believe so," said Harry. "Ron went on and on and on about them on the Hogwarts Express. "It was a bit tedious since I couldn't really picture what he was talking about at the time, but now, combined with his diatribe and this workout tonight, I think I'll be fine."

Marcus nodded at Professor Snape. "He'll need his own broom, sir."

Snape nodded. "I'll take care of that." He turned towards Harry, a slight smirk evident on his lips. "Your . . . _father_ would be very proud, Harry. He was quite a chaser for Gryffindor."

Harry grinned.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, a large eagle owl swooped down in front of Harry, leaving a large but slim package in its wake. It was quickly followed by a small barn owl that dropped a letter on top of it. Luckily Harry opened this first for it read: 

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one.

Remember, First Years almost never get to play _and _you're the youngest player in nearly a century so I want to hear that you've been training hard. _Don't let us down_.

Professor Severus Snape

Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note over to Draco.

Draco grinned. "Wow, that's even better than what I have at home!"

"Couldn't bully your Dad into letting you bring your broom, eh Draco?" asked Harry, remembering their conversation at Madam Malkin's.

Draco looked up from the letter. "No, he talked me out of it." Draco paused. "Can I ride yours sometimes, Harry?"

Harry smiled at his unlikely friend. "Sure! We can take turns. Maybe you can give me some tips on flying strategies."

Draco smiled a genuine smile at this. "Sure, Harry," he said, "If Marcus doesn't wear you out in practice!" Marcus smirked. His training sessions were rough, but they got the right results.

Draco and Harry left the Great Hall shortly after that, wanting to unwrap this new treasure in private before their first class rolled around, but partway through the entrance hall on their way to the dungeons, they found Ron and his brothers standing in their way. Draco repressed the urge to make fun of the trio, knowing full-well that he didn't wish to be on the receiving end of a Weasley Prank . . . and he realized with some surprise that he didn't want to give Harry any reason to think badly of him either. He was starting to enjoy this new, easy going friend of his.

Ron grabbed the package from Harry and felt it.

"That's a broomstick," he said, tossing it back to Harry, obviously jealous. "You'll get in trouble for sure. First years aren't allowed to have them."

Draco couldn't resist one small jab. "It's not _just _a broomstick, Wea—Ron," Draco announced, "It's a Nimbus 2000!" He surprised everyone with his next comment. "It's even better than what _I _have at home, but Harry said he'd let me ride his!"

Ron scowled at Harry. At that moment, Professor Flitwick happened by. "Professor, Harry has a broom," exclaimed George. Or maybe it was Fred; Harry didn't know them well enough yet to be sure.

Professor Flitwick grinned. "Yes, Severus told me! Harry is the new seeker for Slytherin! It's most exciting, eh, Harry? You're the youngest player in nearly a century. Your father was quite an excellent chaser. I'll be interested to see if you fly as well as James did."

Harry smiled, a bit nervously. It seemed he would have a lot to live up to.

Flitwick smiled at the boys and continued on his way. The Weasley brothers still looked a bit put-out; by their way of thinking, Harry should have been in _their_ House, and therefore should have been _their _Seeker.

Harry caught Ron's eye. "Perhaps you'd like a go on the broom as well, Ron?" Harry asked tentatively.

Ron was caught. He couldn't see himself being friends with Harry the Slytherin, much less any spawn of the Malfoy family, but the urge to ride a _really good broom_ was strong. He shifted from foot to foot, reminding Draco of a nervous horse. Finally Ron nodded. "I'd like that, Harry, I really would."

"That's great, mate! I'll let you know when I'm taking it for a luxury ride. I'm not sure when the training sessions are – plus I think Marcus has to give me extra ones since I didn't grow up knowing anything about the game. The stuff you told me about Quidditch on the train was really helpful though."

Ron smiled at Harry, nodded at Draco, and the group split apart, the Weasleys heading in one direction, and the Slytherins back into the bowels of the castle.

* * *

That evening, Harry, Draco, Ron and Hermione met on the Quidditch Pitch. It was an unlikely foursome, but Harry _had _invited Ron, and Ron had brought along, rather grudgingly, Hermione. He was still irritated by her bossy manner, but he had to admit it was helpful having a friend who could tutor you in every subject. After their first lesson, Hermione had decided flying was definitely not for her, but she was still curious to see what a really decent broomstick could do. 

Harry had long since unwrapped the gleaming broom and held it eagerly. At Draco's command, he mounted up and kicked off. He hovered over their heads while Draco offered several tips on flying. Ron found himself joining in, mentioning various moves that the Seeker for the Chuddley Cannons often used. In the back of his mind, Ron knew he was giving tips to the enemy as far as the House Cup was concerned, but the balance between friendship and enmity with Harry was still too fragile to risk messing it up over this. Besides, he really did want to ride Harry's broom.

Hermione smiled to herself, pleased at how Draco and Ron were getting along in their efforts to befriend Harry.

After about thirty minutes, an exhausted but exhilarated Harry swooped to the ground and dismounted. "That was fantastic!" exclaimed Harry. "Alright, how do we want to decide who goes first; Draco or Ron?"

Hermione transfigured two blades of glass into a black pebble and a clear one. She mixed them behind her back and held her hands out. "Each of you pick a hand," she instructed the boys in front of her, "the one with the black pebble goes first."

Ron drew the black one, and with a smile, mounted up and soared around the pitch. After several laps he landed and offered the broom to Draco. "Thanks mate! That was the best ride I've ever had!"

A few minutes later, Draco had to concur. The Nimbus 2000 was absolutely fabulous. He could fly all day on that and never get bored.

Back in the main hall, the foursome separated as Ron and Hermione headed back to Gryffindor Tower. When they were out of earshot, Draco said, "That was truly awesome, Harry. The Cup is ours for sure this year! The other Seekers will never be able to catch you!"

* * *

The next day was Hallowe'en. The first years could barely believe they had been at Hogwarts for two months. Harry particularly was amazed at how quickly the castle had become _home_ to him; something Privet Drive never was in all his years there. 

All through the corridors, even wafting down to the dungeons, came the most wonderful smells of special Hallowe'en treats that the house elves were preparing for the festivities for the evening. Harry and Draco could hardly wait and were some of the first ones at the Slytherin table that evening. Unfortunately, the feast was abruptly cut short when Professor Quirrell raced into the Great Hall to announce that there was a _troll_ in the dungeons. The highly-strung man then promptly passed out on the floor and pandemonium erupted.

The Headmaster cast sonorous on himself and called for "SILENCE!" When everyone was calm, he cast _finite incantatum_, and continued. "There will be no panicking, please. Will the prefects lead their students back to the common rooms? The feast shall continue there." He signaled the other professors to follow him. Snape directed a suspicious look at the _unconscious_ professor on the floor and slipped out a nearly hidden door behind the High Table.

* * *

Once Harry and Draco were in the labyrinth of the dungeons, they slipped away from Marcus. Harry had confided to Draco about the mysterious pain he had experienced around their DADA professor and about what Professor Snape had said to him after that day in Potions. The two boys wanted to see if Quirrell really was unconscious or if he was faking it, especially after Draco pointed out that Quirrell had mentioned that trolls were one of his specialties. 

Before they could get very far, they ran into Ron who had evidently slipped away from Percy.

"Ron!" Draco hissed, what are you doing down here?"

"The Gryffindors were the last out of the Great Hall and Hermione and I made sure that we were the last of our House out of the Great Hall. We stayed behind to keep an eye on Quirrell because Hermione thinks there's something off about him. . . . besides his complete lack of personal hygiene."

Harry looked at him.

"He smells wretchedly awful!" exclaimed Ron. "Hermione always makes us sit in the front; I don't know how she can stand to be so close to him!"

Harry and Draco exchanged a glance.

"Why did you come down here?" asked Harry, curiously.

"Hermione heard something about you being suspicious of Quirrell too and said we should let you know what we saw," explained Ron.

"Well, did you see anything?" Draco asked trying to keep his voice down and hoping Ron would get the hint.

Apparently he did for he stepped closer to them. "As soon as Quirrell thought we were all gone, he got up and escaped out that same door that Sn—Professor Snape did," Ron said quietly.

"So you noticed that too, huh?" said Harry.

"Yeah," said Ron. "I thought he might be involved in whatever Quirrell is wrapped up in. He treats us bloody awful . . . but I saw the way he looked at Quirrell tonight and I figured, he may be a git, but I'm pretty sure he's trying to stop Quirrell from whatever he's up to."

"What exactly do you think he's up to?" asked Draco, curiously. "And where's Hermione?"

"She headed back to the Tower as soon as we saw what was going on; I told her since our room is so far away it would be easier if just one of us got caught out later on." Ron paused for a moment. "You know that day before school began that you said Professor Snape took you to Gringotts and everything?" Ron asked Harry.

Harry nodded.

"Well, Hermione subscribed to _The Daily Prophet_ and we found an article that says a high security vault was broken into that same day but it had already been emptied. Hermione and I were down visiting Hagrid – he's ever so glad there aren't any more twins in our family – and he had the same article cut out on his table. He was awfully uptight about the whole thing, didn't want to say anything about it, but he did leak that Hogwarts is protecting whatever the item is and that several professors are involved in the protection charms," finished Ron.

Harry pondered this. He knew Professor Snape had retrieved a small, rather grubby item and had pocketed it carefully – if a bit distastefully – that day. Harry had no idea what it was though; the look on the man's face had left no room for discussion.

"Thanks for telling me this, mate. I agree, there's something off-putting about Quirrell, but Draco and I just aren't sure what it is yet. You better get back to Hermione before anyone notices we're not in our common areas."

Ron nodded to the two Slytherins and head back down the corridor. He had just turned the corner and Harry and Draco were heading back to their room when they head a scream and a roar.

* * *

The two boys turned and ran in the direction Ron had gone. They found him in a corner with a fully grown, quite smelly, furious mountain troll. 

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Harry.

Draco cast a critical eye on the beast. "Poor, stuttering, nervous Quirrell is an expert in _these_ things?"

"Hey, pug-face!" Harry called out, trying to distract it from advancing any further on Ron.

The troll halted and turned around "Grrragh?" _'New prey!'_

The troll lumbered back in the direction it had come from, heading for Harry. "Run, Ron!" called Draco. Ron sprung from his crouched position and looped around towards Draco.

"Harry can't take that thing on, Draco! We've got to distract it!"

Harry was walking backwards, trying to lead the troll out of the dungeons.

Draco watched them nervously. "Do you know _expelliarmus_, Ron?"

"Yeah . . . I haven't really _used _it, but we practiced on it in class; nothing big though."

"If we cast it together we might have enough power behind it. One the count of three, cast and aim it at the troll's club," Draco decided.

"1 – 2 – 3!"

"_Expelliarmus!"_

The massive club flew out of the surprised troll's hands and headed towards the young wizards.

'_Whoops!'_ thought Draco as he threw himself over Ron to get the other boy out of the way of the massive missile. It crashed to the ground right behind them.

They still, however, had a large, even angrier troll facing them.

While they were trying to decide what to do, Professors Snape, McGonagall and Quirrell rounded the corner. Quirrell took one look at the troll and slid down the wall in a dead faint. McGonagall and Snape looked at him indignantly and cast a quick, powerful stupefy on the troll who promptly crashed to the ground.

"Explain yourselves," said McGonagall, her lips drawn into a thin, disapproving line.

The three boys looked at each other uncomfortably. Harry glanced at Quirrell who was coming around. "Professor Snape, can we discuss this _just_ with you and Professor McGonagall since you two are our Head of Houses?" asked Harry reasonably.

The two adults looked at each other and nodded. Professor Snape hadn't missed the look Harry had given Quirrell and suspected the explanation had something to do with the man.

The two Heads motioned for the boys to follow them to a more private room to discuss the matter at hand. It was then that Harry realized that Professor Snape was limping. He made a mental note to ask the man about it at a more appropriate time. He wondered if Quirrell had had anything to do with it. It'd be another black mark against Quirrell, Harry thought absently.

Although neither Professor was pleased at the boys taking matters into their own hands, they had to admit that between smarts and, as Professor McGonagall called it, _'sheer dumb luck'_ they had done quite well when faced with such a creature. Far better than Quirrell who was supposedly a troll _expert_.

* * *

The sandglasses that hung in the Great Hall which represented the House Points reflected the results of the discussion the next day. Both houses suddenly had gained 20 points each over night. 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

_Author's Note_

_Thanks for all your reviews thus far. Hope you enjoy this next installment. ('the-sexy-flower') --you asked if I was planning to continue in this fashion with the other books. My answer to that is, most definitely. I was already planning to do this, but knowing that at least one of my reviewers would enjoy this has furthered my intent in this. I may not make note of every review as some FF authors do, but be assured that I do read every single one of them and if I see an interesting suggestion will try to work it into my storyline. _

_Also, yes, I am 100 percent aware of the fact that if I was accepting anonymous reviews that I would get more of them, but I would rather get a handful (or so) of nice reviews or constructive criticism reviews than anonymous reviews that are so obscene that I have to remove them or ones that call me vulgar names and tell me I should be murdered. _

_I apologize for taking so long to get this one up. Slave4Severus and I got distracted getting her next chapter going, as well as our joint next chapter for Duck Duck Goose, and creating some FanFic artwork to accompany our stories. Well, okay, I also had a bit of writer's block which is slowly dissolving!_

_I was going to wait to post this chapter until after I'd put the game in, but Slave4Severus said I should put in chapter 17 and to post this already. Initially I declined, but you guys have been waiting for 13 days now . . . so the actual match will pop up in the next chapter._

_You can find the **FanFic artwork** by going to my profile page and then visiting my website. There's work up for every story now, and I intend to do more. I'd love to know your reactions to the art. Some are obviously more complex than others. Artwork reactions can be left in the website guestbook._

_MysticSong1978_

_P.S. If you ask me a question or make a comment that you'd like a reply to, make sure you have an e-mail address in your profile that I can reply to you at! By the time I get another chapter online I may not remember to reply!_

_P.P.S. Please check out (and coughreviewcough) my beta's story and tell your friends! I know sometimes HP stories that introduce an original character into the mix are awkward and hard to get into, but I would love this story even if Slave4Severus was a complete and total stranger. And as the story progresses you'll see more and more of characters you know and love (Severus, Lucius, et cetera) plus there's some fun graphics to accompany the tale!_

* * *

The troll experience seemed to bring the unlikely foursome closer together. Although Hermione hadn't actually witnessed the events, she had helped them out; they moved to include her.

Albus couldn't have been happier. "Ah! At long last we're developing inter-house relations and we didn't even have to wait for them to grow up!"

"Perhaps, Albus," said Severus in clipped tones, "these four _have_ grown-up. Although I shudder at Lucius's reaction when he learns his son has befriended 'the Boy Who Lived', a Weasley and a 'mudblood'. I daresay he won't be quite so pleased."

Minerva shook her head sadly. Despite her initial reluctance to befriend Harry after the Sorting, she respected his obvious intent to learn before passing judgment on his classmates. In truth, she loved the boy as if he was her own and she still missed his parents quite terribly. "Perhaps we need to keep an eye on them – Mr. Malfoy in particular in as such that he finds himself in need of protection from his _Father_."

Severus gave her a curt nod and Albus smiled. "I agree, but for now I think we are fine in just gelding the horse."

Severus quirked a brow. "That sounds painful as well as utterly useless, Albus."

Minerva snorted. "Albus, you should be more careful which of those Muggle phrases you use." She turned to Severus. "Some of the things that come out of his mouth would make me swear he's deaf as a post. He meant _'holding the fort'_."

Severus smirked. "Ah, yes. That I am a bit more familiar with. Let me talk with Draco first and see what his view on the situation is. I'm not sure how much he communicates with his parents aside to thank them for their weekly basket of treats. I'll advise you if we should take further action. Are we done here?"

Albus smiled, eyes twinkling. "You may go, my boy. Minerva, please stay a moment."

'_I'd love to charm that twinkle out of his damnable blue eyes! It always means trouble for me!' _reflected Severus.

As if he knew what Severus was thinking, the Headmaster's eyes grew even brighter. Severus huffed and strode out of the office, heading back to the sweet solitude of his dungeons.

Once out of sight of the Headmaster's office, Severus was sure the old coot could see through the door, he eased up, his leg still sore from that monstrosity in the third floor corridor. As he walked across the main hall, he noticed movement in the courtyard. He slipped behind a pillar to watch.

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Draco were huddled together, keeping warm by some blue fire that Hermione had in a jar. _'Clever little chit,'_ he mused. Harry was flipping through some Quidditch book with Draco and Ron who were pointing various things out to Harry and giving him suggestions. Severus was amused to realize that Ron evidently had given up all worries about befriending a Slytherin and was even up to giving pointers to an opposing team because said player was his friend. He was glad that Draco had found such camaraderie; he hoped it wouldn't jeopardize the boy's safety.

As he watched, the group suddenly drew closer together. The book was slipped behind them into the inner ring of the circle. To the casual observer, they had simply gotten bored and put the book away. Severus had a feeling they were being watched by someone besides himself and one of them had realized it. He thought he saw Harry wince, and he realized who it must be seconds before the man strode towards the foursome.

Quirrell.

"What do w-we h-have here?"

'_People who stutter should not attempt to confront others,' _Severus thought.

The foursome looked at the twitch professor blandly. "We're just trying to keep warm, sir," said Hermione. "It's such a pretty day out, and we really needed some fresh air, but since the weather is still a bit damp, standing together kept us from being uncomfortable and having to go in early."

Quirrell pondered this. "Yo-you're hi-hiding something. G-give it he-here!"

He reached past Harry who jerked spasmodically for a few seconds before stepping back as far as he could from the professor who had just plucked the book out of Ron's hands.

"What is _this_?"

"It's a book, sir," said Ron.

"Library books are n-no-_not_ permitted to be ta-taken ou-outs-ide the school! Five points each from your Houses!"

The students gaped at him. Harry rubbed his forehead; Draco glared at their DADA professor as he . . . . limped away. "Harry!" whispered Draco fervently, "He's limping like Professor Snape was, but he looks far worse, don't you think?"

Harry nodded, the pain in his head easing. He started when a cool hand dropped over his shoulder, but relaxed when Draco said, "Professor Snape!"

Harry turned and eyed his professor. "Sir, he's limping like . . ." he didn't know if his professor wanted that shared with everyone else. Severus eyed the students warily. He had a feeling they all knew he was injured.

"The four of you," he said a bit thoughtfully, come with me. "We'll continue this somewhere more private."

The four students looked at each other and then at Severus. "Certainly, sir," said Hermione.

Faces neutral as they followed the Head of Slytherin to the dungeons, they passed a number of students who all gave them compassionate looks as they passed by, sure that they were on their way to detention.

To their surprise, their professor bypassed his office and led them into his own chambers. "We're guaranteed better privacy in my rooms than in the classroom or even my office," he explained. "Sit down, all of you."

Severus sank wearily into his favourite leather chair while he waited for the students to get comfortable. _'I could use a drink,'_ he mused, _'but best that I wait until I'm alone.'_

He faced Draco and Harry. "As you noticed, yes, Quirrell is limping as I am limping, although I believe Quirrell got the worst of it."

"What happened to your leg, sir?" asked Draco.

Severus sighed. He weighed his options, and then carefully pulled one of the legs of his trousers up to show them his leg. It looked a bit mangled, even with the bandage on it, and was bleeding a bit.

Ron frowned. "What did that?"

Severus overlooked Ron's lack of a respectful title when he realized that for perhaps the first time, someone besides a handful of coworkers was genuinely concerned for him.

"The Headmaster is protecting something for a friend. It is hidden in a well protected chamber in the castle, accessible through the restricted third-floor corridor. I believe Quirrell left the troll into the castle as a diversion so that he could attempt to get into the chamber. I endeavored to stop him. As he was unable to distract the creature that Hagrid put up there to protect the entrance, it bit him."

"It would seem that it attacked you as well, sir," said Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger, it did, though not as severely as it did your DADA _professor_," he said, a brief smile glinting on his lips. It was clear to the students that Professor Snape thought no better of the DADA teacher than they did.

Harry's lips curled in a snarl. "Wish I could hex him for putting you into that position, not to mention what could have happened to the students!"

Severus gave Harry a brief smile. It made him look younger. "Of course, if you four had obeyed the order to back to your common room, young Mr. Weasley here wouldn't have been cornered by the troll in the first place. However, since it did happen, and I am again reminded of your heroics, let us say 10 points to each of your houses. I believe that will cancel out the _Quirrell-effect_."

The students grinned at each other.

"However," continued Severus, "If you tell anyone about my sudden interest in House point fairness, I will vehemently deny it and find some reason to take them away."

Draco smirked. "Image, and all that, right Professor?"

"Sir," began Hermione, "Madam Pince never said we couldn't take the book outside, an-"

"And Hermione knows every school rule by heart," interjected Ron.

She frowned at him. "We weren't even off of school property. Do you suppose we can get the book back so we can finish going through it with Harry before the match?"

"Yes, please sir," said Harry, "it's helping me keep my mind off of the first game."

"I thought you were excited, Harry?" mused Severus.

"Well, yes, but I'm nervous too. Everyone says I'm a natural, and I love to fly, but I never did it before I came here and I'm afraid I'll falloffandmakeafoolofmyselfinfrontfothewholeschool!" This last said in such a rush that one word was completely unintelligible from the next.

"Eloquent as ever, I see," smirked Severus.

Harry's cheeks tinged red.

"But I get the gist of what you said, and I am sure you will be fine. Quidditch is one place your father never made a fool of himself."

Harry smiled then frowned in quick succession. "But he made a fool of himself everywhere else, is that what you're saying sir?"

Severus decided he was on thin ice in this topic. He squelched down his feelings for the dead man.

"Harry, your father and I attended Hogwarts at the same time, and some feelings are difficult to move past. I do not, however, feel that this is an appropriate topic for now. I will be . . . willing to discuss it with you at a later time, of my choosing, and most certainly in private, but not at this moment."

"Yes, sir," said Harry resignedly.

"Now, I'd like all of you to go back to your common areas, or to the library, or whatnot, as is your choice, but be sure to stay out of Professor Quirrell's way. I will see about getting your book back – check with me after dinner, Harry. Draco, I need you to stay a moment to discuss a private matter."

Draco nodded, "Yes, sir." He turned to his friends. _'I never thought I'd have real friends here, at Hogwarts,'_ Draco thought to himself, _'Friends who actually stand up **with**, not just **for** you because they're bigger than everyone else.'_ Millicent Bulstrode, an ox of a girl, had gotten that _honor_, being befriended by Crabbe and Goyle. They had made not-so-innocent attempts to befriend Draco, but he saw them for what they were and had evaded them successfully so far. Luckily for Draco, the lot of them was extraordinarily dull-witted. "Where are you guys going?"

Harry, Hermione and Ron consulted. "We're going to take Harry down to meet Hagrid, Draco," Ron finally announced. "He's been awful keen on meeting him. Join us there when you're done?"

Draco nodded. "See you in a bit, then."

The three left, leaving Draco with Severus.

"Tea?" offered Severus.

Draco nodded, and took a cup from the tea service that had appeared on the table in front of him.

"I commend you on your willingness to put aside old house rivalries and petty pureblood training that allowed the friendship you have with those three to develop, Draco."

Draco's lips twitched into a brief smile.

"It's nice to have _real_ friends, sir," he told his Head of House, reflecting his earlier thoughts out loud.

"I imagine it would be. I do, however, wish to voice a concern that Professors McGonagall, Dumbledore, and I have for you however because of your father's views on the 'Boy-Who-Lived', the Weasley family, and the girl whom he would most likely term a 'mud-blood'."

Draco winced. "I know that my Father would not be pleased in my choice of friends. He wants me to follow in his footsteps as the sole heir to the Malfoy line and all that. I admit I was skeptical at first about Harry and his Gryffindorish behaviour about being non-judgmental . . . but then I started to get to really know Harry, and through him Ron and Hermione, and they're really nice people. The pureblood rules about who is a good person and who isn't, seems to be to pure rubbish, sir."

Severus nodded. "I had come to that conclusion myself many years ago."

Draco looked at him in surprise.

"I knew it!"

Severus, if possible, paled. "You knew _what_, Draco?"

"I heard about you running into Father with Harry Potter, sir. Something about the way he talked about you . . . He was thrilled of course that you were befriending "The Boy Who Lived" right off in the case that the D-Dark Lord should return, but I had seen the way Harry looked at you in Madam Malkin's – of course I didn't know when I saw him who he was – and I saw you give him his owl. I've also seen how you treat Harry here in private, and how you treated two Gryffindors in private. I had always hoped sir, especially since you are my Godfather that my suspicions about you turning from the Dark Lord were correct because it meant I had someone who could help _me_ stay safe if he were to return; especially while I was still a student."

Severus was impressed at the boy's thoughts and pleased that he didn't want to be a carbon copy of his father, no matter how much he might look as if he were.

Draco continued, "I love my Father, Mother too," he told Severus, "I know in my heart they are not good people, but they do love me and have always tried to do what is best for me. I do not want to see them hurt, but if it comes to that, I will not stand with them. I will stand with you, sir, and with my friends." He paused. "I do not think my Father is aware of where I would align myself at this time, and I certainly do not intend to tell him, but Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle are getting further irritated with my non-compliance, as they see it, to cozy up to them or to share any weaknesses that Harry might have. I imagine that there is the potential that Bulstrode, even as dumb as she is, might write to my Father out of fake concern for my state of mind and let things slip."

Severus nodded, "And your other age-mates? Blaise, Pansy?"

"I am not certain sir, but I believe that they would stand with me. They have the cunning ways of a Slytherin, but have the common sense and intelligence that the other three are completely empty of. I believe that if we were to gradually include them into our foursome that they would prove trustworthy."

"You should discuss your feelings in a secure place with your friends, Draco. You can use my chambers if you need to; let me know. Be sure you go about things carefully, like a good Slytherin," they shared a smirk, "so as to not rouse further suspicion from anyone, and see if you can steadily introduce Blaise and Pansy into your group. There may be students in other houses that would be wise to befriend as well. The propensity towards evil is not solely a Slytherin trait, Draco; we just have the worst reputation for it because of the Dark Lord."

"Yes, sir. I'll keep you posted," he told his professor.

Severus inclined his head. "That is all; go on and join your friends."

Draco neatly placed his teacup back on the tray and gracefully exited his professor's chambers, leaving Severus staring intently into the fire, contemplating their discussion.

* * *

**Meanwhile, at Hagrid's Hut:**

Ron knocked. From inside they could hear great, yelping barks, followed by a loud, commanding voice, "Down, Fang! No, **_back!_** That's a good – down – boy!"

The door suddenly sprang open and Harry found himself facing the large man who had led them across the lake from the Hogwarts Express.

"Ron! Hermione! Who've you brought with yeh?"

"I'm Harry, sir," he said, sticking out his hand, "Harry Potter."

Hagrid's mouth gaped open for a second before he reached out and captured Harry's small frame in a bone-crushing hug.

"'Arry! I haven't seen ye since you wer' jus' a baby! I rescued yeh from yer parent's house." He sniffed loudly. "A nicer pair of folks ye ne'er saw before. Great folks. A great wizard n' witch too." He sniffed again. "I'm sorry I couldn't pick ye up from those awful Muggles, 'Arry, but me thestrals were 'aving problems and I 'ad to take care of 'em. I knew it was folly sending Severus after you. He's a good man, but ye should 'ave been in Gryffindor like ye parents! What must they think of me" Hagrid wailed this last loudly into Harry's ear and sniffed again, his nose red.

Ron and Hermione looked like they were trying to suppress giggles; Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable.

He eased himself out of Hagrid's grasp.

"It's nice to meet you too," he told Hagrid, "but don't you go worrying about my placement in Slytherin. It works just fine for me. The Sorting Hat said though the other Houses had good points that would work well with me, Slytherin would be best. I know it has a dreadful reputation, but there _really_ are some good folks there. You said it yourself, Hagrid, about Professor Snape."

Hagrid blew his nose and dropped heavily into a chair.

"He _is_ a good man, 'Arry, and a good man to call friend, but a dark past, that one 'as. Not me place to go into that, though. I jus' can't believe Lily and James' son is a Slytherin!"

Harry shrugged. "I have vague memories of my parents, Hagrid, but that's all. I was raised by Muggles who couldn't stand to have me around. Professor Snape was the first person to stick up for me to them, so I was bound to like him. He told me a lot of stuff, and how he might have to put up a front if I wasn't sorted into his House but that I could still go talk to him if I needed to. But I decided on my own that I wasn't going to pre-judge anyone from _any_ House; that I'd get to know them for themselves, as people; not as a collective group based on the history of their House," explained Harry.

Ron spoke up. "Hagrid, you remember me telling you how I was appalled that my new friend had been sorted into Slytherin? Well, obviously that was Harry, but Hermione gave me a talking to – and so did Harry. I knew that I had liked Harry – a lot – on the train, and that he really was still the same person, so I gave him a chance, and I'm glad I did. He's right. Some of the Houses have better reputations than others because of the past. But this isn't the past, and things can be changed. Hermione and I may be the first Gryffindors to say so, but Professor Snape is alright. Quirrell, now that's the one you've got to watch out for!"

"Pish posh! That's _Professor_ Quirrell, to you Ron, and there ain't nothing wrong with the man. Sure, he stutters a bit, but ye would too if you'd faced what he had!"

Ron, Harry, and Hermione eyed each other. Hagrid was nice, but he was rather naïve.

Before they could offer up any reason they were suspicious of Quirrell, however, a knock sounded at the door.

Thus started another round of barking from the over-excited boarhound; Harry and Ron struggled to hold him in place while Hagrid checked to see who it was.

He had the door open about half-way, so that he could see his guest and the others could not.

"And what would the likes o' you be doing here?"

"I'm meeting up with my friends." Draco's voice came from around the door.

"Friends, eh?" said Hagrid suspiciously.

"Oh for Heaven's sake!" exclaimed Hermione, exasperatedly, "Hagrid, let Draco in here!"

Hagrid started in surprise. _'The ickle Malfoy prat befriended a Muggle girl?'_

He stepped back and Draco popped around the door cheerfully. He grinned at Harry and Ron's attempts to hold onto the big dog and to everyone's surprise (the old Draco did have a tendency to show up every now and then) stuck his hand out to Hagrid.

"Hello, sir, I'm Draco Malfoy."

Hagrid was clearly bamboozled, but he took Draco's hand and shook. "Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds 'ere at Hogwarts."

A little while later, Hagrid declared he had things to be doing, and shooed them out the door.

* * *

As the foursome headed back towards the castle, Hermione inquired as to what Professor Snape had wanted to discuss, if, of course, Draco felt like sharing.

Draco pondered for a moment. "I can't tell you everything because it could put people at unnecessary risk, and I don't believe that the outdoors is the most private of spots. We should wait and discuss most of this in a secure location such as we did earlier today," he said pointedly.

The others nodded, understanding his meaning. They would wait until they could discuss things in the professor's rooms again.

Draco leaned in towards his friends and whispered, "We do, however, need to be careful around Bulstrode, Crabbe, and Goyle. Their families still lean towards the dark. Hermione, you'd be at the most risk out of all of us if they decided to pull pranks."

"Why me?" asked Hermione.

Draco shifted uncomfortably. "They consider you . . . well, a _mudblood_," he said quietly, "because you're Muggle-born. They don't think you should be allowed at Hogwarts."

Hermione's lips tightened. "It's one of the foulest words someone could use against, you, Hermione," said Ron darkly. "It's good that Draco told you though; it wouldn't have occurred to me, and Harry never would have heard it."

Draco looked discomfited. "_I_ would have called you that, Hermione, had I not followed Harry's lead in getting to know people _before_ judging them. It's how I was brought up by my gracious but judgmental parents."

Hermione just nodded.

The boys looked at each other awkwardly. They couldn't tell if she was just mad or upset. They hoped she wouldn't cry.

Finally she let out a long breath and relaxed. "What about the other Slytherins? Especially first years? Aren't there a few others that came in with us, Draco?"

He nodded. "Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. I think they're cool. Sev says we should gradually befriend them, but carefully so it doesn't look like a set-up; especially since the other three have been trying to befriend Harry and myself and we've been avoiding them."

"_Sev_?" questioned Harry.

Draco blushed very faintly. "I didn't realize I slipped and said that," he said, obviously embarrassed. "Professor Snape is my Godfather."

"Awwww…." was all Hermione could muster.

Draco blushed again, a little more visibly. "Don't say that to him, you'll never live it down. He does _not_ do 'cute'!"

It was nearly time to eat, and they parted ways at the entrance to the Great Hall; Harry and Draco joining their age-mates at the Slytherin table, Hermione and Ron at Gryffindor. From the High Table, three professors smiled fondly at them. Well, one looked more like he was smirking, but the thought was there.

* * *

The next morning brought the first Quidditch game of the year. It was chilly, and from the upstairs windows, Hagrid could be seen defrosting the brooms. Harry had received permission to keep his Nimbus 2000 in his trunk instead of in the shed.

Mostly this was because the professors had tried very hard to keep the truth of Harry being chosen as the Slytherin Seeker a secret. The other Quidditch teams had found out, of course, but for the most part, it would be a surprise come game time.

Harry was sitting morosely at the table that morning staring at his breakfast. Draco was trying to convince him to eat something, even if it was just plain toast.

"You'll need your strength, Harry, Quidditch games can go on for hours!"

Marcus leaned around Draco, and smiled, or at least he gave what passed for a Flint smile with those horse teeth and generally surly attitude of his. "Draco's right, Harry, you've gotta eat something or you'll regret it when you're in the air."

"I think the people below me will regret it more if I eat and retch on them," said Harry.

Draco and Marcus looked at each other. "Maybe I can get a nutritional potion out of Professor Snape," suggested Draco.

Marcus nodded. "It will give him what he needs without making him queasy. Probably the best bet right now. Hurry it up though."

Draco nodded, signaled the Professor with sign language his Godfather had taught him as a child, and slipped out the door.

Severus met him in the hall. When Draco explained what he wanted, Severus conjured a slightly thicker looking version of the nutrient potion. "This is my special stock that I usually only give to Madam Pomfrey for people who haven't been able to eat for several days due to unconsciousness or some such quandary. It will give Harry the illusion of being full, and give him the nutrients he needs to be able to play safely. He'll need to eat a regular meal as soon as he can after he plays. Bring him to my rooms afterwards and he can eat something there."

"Yes, sir; thank you, sir." Draco slipped back into the Great Hall. Severus decided he'd eaten enough and went back to his office to mark papers until it got closer to the match.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

* * *

_Author's Note_

_The Quidditch scene is going to be very similar to the book with some obvious changes. You may see strong similarities elsewhere as well. Pretty, pretty please don't complain to me about this in the reviews. I also ask that you just don't assume everything is verbatim and skip sections for even the sports section (of which I'm fairly stupid about – sports that is) I've tweaked to my suiting, so if you just jump over bits, you'll miss a fair amount._

_I also never said I was going to completely keep characters at canon level. Because the House relationships change drastically, the characters will follow suit. In addition, I feel that I put lots of emotion into my writing. If I didn't, I probably wouldn't bother posting it in the first place._

_I will, however, keep a fair level of snarkiness in Severus, because otherwise, he's just not the same man we all know and love._

_Also, Slave4Severus and I now have a Yahoo group you can join and keep up to date with how the stories are progressing, fan art and other juicy tidbits. We may even have a group shirt you can order!_

_We respect that does not want folks posting chapters that are simply author's notes, but sometimes we go so long (because of mundane life reasons) between chapters that we're afraid you'll think we've forgotten our story. The group will allow us more frequent updates to the story as well as answering your reviews (should they call for commentary) in a more timely fashion. Sometimes I wholeheartedly intend to reply to someone's review but by the time I post I forget. As you other writers here know, it's a pain to reload a chapter – and updates take so long to post, this seems like the best idea._

_To join the group, visit us at the following URL (take the spaces out to make it a valid link!)_

_http:groups . yahoo . com / group / Severus-ItsWhatsForDinner_

_Yours,_

_MysticSong1978_

_P.S. I have snuck a few quotes from Rickman films and a song lyric or two into this chapter. Five points to your house for each one you find! Must tell me what House you are in, though. I want the character and film title **and (or) **the song tile and the rest of the line if it is incomplete! You can get points for as many different things as you can identify._

* * *

By eleven o'clock, it seemed that the whole of Hogwarts had gathered in their respective stands, placed high above ground in a circle around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars; the seats _were_ raised, but it was still difficult to keep track of the game at times.

Ron and Hermione were torn, but knew they would face torment from most of the Slytherins if they sat with Draco, so they joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean in the top row of the Gryffindor section. As a surprise for Harry, they had had painted a large banner on a sheet that Scabbers had destroyed. It read _Potter for President_ and Dean, who was quite the artist, and one day hoped to attend Chelsea College of Art, had done a large lion intertwined with a shimmering serpent underneath. Some of the Gryffindors were a bit put out at this open show of camaraderie, and the less than friendly Slytherins simply made fun of them, but Harry's friends ignored it. Hermione even performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed in different colours; particularly those of the two Houses.

Meanwhile, in the changing rooms, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their emerald Quidditch robes (Gryffindor would be playing in scarlet).

Flint cleared his throat for silence.

In Harry's nervous state, Flint sounded a bit like a Gorilla, but he kept his snickers to himself, lest the over-zealous captain pound him one.

"We've got the better team, the better seeker, we haven't lost the Cup in awhile, so don't you guys dare disappoint me or Professor Snape! _Go get the Gryffindors, or else!_"

As inspirational speeches go, it wasn't top notch, but Harry was slowly adapting to the Slytherin's cunning, if a bit rough-and-tumble ways, and nodded at Marcus. He hadn't recognized the name of the Gryffindor seeker. Ron said it was an upperclassman that was good, but not particularly remarkable. Moreover, Harry had an advantage over everyone else; his Nimbus 2000, courtesy of Professor Snape.

Harry followed his team out of the changing rooms, hoping his knees wouldn't give way, walked on to the pitch to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the pitch, waiting for the two teams, her broom in hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, _all_ of you," she said, once they were gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to his team's captain. He had a feeling his team wasn't known to play nice; not that the idea particularly surprised him. Marcus did look as if he had some troll blood in him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the fluttering banner high above, flashing _Potter for President_ over the crowd, lion and serpent drawn together, and took heart. His heart skipped a bit, his breath hitched; but he felt braver.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Harry clambered on to his broom.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off!

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve – back to Johnson and – no, Slytherin have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there – he's going to sc – no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and Gryffindor take the Quaffle – that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and – OUCH – that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger – Quaffle taken by Slytherin – that's Adrian Pucey speeding off towards the goalposts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes – she's really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – the goalposts are ahead – come on, now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins. Despite their ever-blossoming friendship with Harry, and their desire to see him do well, Hermione, and Ron in particular, were caught up in the excitement and couldn't help but cheer their team on to a hopeful victory.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough room to join them.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars round his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," said Ron. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet. And the Gryffindor Seeker has just been hanging there like a lump on his broom. If I didn't know for a fact that Oliver had training sessions for awhile now, I'd have thought he just picked the likeliest looking candidate out of our common room this morning!"

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's something," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skywards at the specks that were the Seekers.

Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Flint's game plan. Well, really just _his_ plan. Flint's plan was _don't lose or else_, although the rough older boy had advised Harry to keep out of the way until he caught sight of the Snitch; no point being attacked before it was necessary.

Once he caught sigh of a flash of gold but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasley's wristwatches, and once a Bludger had decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannon ball than anything; but Harry had dodged it and one of their beaters came chasing after it.

"All right there, Harry?" he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Oliver Wood.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying. "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys and Chaser Bell and speeds towards the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle; too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement, he dived downward after the streak of gold, closely followed by the Gryffindor Seeker, who could, evidently fly after all. Neck and neck they hurtled towards the Snitch – all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in mid-air to watch.

Harry was faster than his opponent – he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead – he put on an extra spurt of speed and –

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Slytherins below – George Weasley had blocked Harry on purpose and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

"Foul!" screamed the Slytherins. Hermione looked worried; Ron felt he was riding the fence between House and brotherly loyalty and his friendship with Harry.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to George, who, like his brother, could be like a human Bludger at times, and then ordered a free shot at the goalposts for Slytherin. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

"After Weasley takes Harry off course, Slytherin is awarded a penalty, taken by Pucey, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Slytherin still in possession."

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger which went spinning dangerously past his head that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back towards the Slytherin goalposts; he had half a mind to ask Flint to call time out – and then he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air and every now and then making violent swishing movements which almost unseated him.

Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherin score – oh no . . . "

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing" Hagrid mumbled. He started through his binoculars. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he lost control of his broom . . . but he can't have . . ."

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. Draco gaped in horror as his friend was carried higher and higher by his suddenly unfriendly broom. It almost looked, he thought, as if someone had cast a hurling hex on him; but it would take powerful Dark Magic to affect a Nimbus 2000! Something which not even the seventh year students could do; suspicious, he eyed the professors.

Harry's broom had gone into frightening barrel rolls with him just managing to hang on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had just given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

Hagrid was having similar thoughts as Draco, and he voiced them as the Gryffindors pelted him with questions.

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, grey-faced.

Hermione had first caught Draco's face and watched him as he studied . . . the professors. She swung her binoculars in that direction to find the DADA professor eyeing Harry, muttering non-stop under his breath. As she moved to put them downwards, she caught sight of Professor Snape doing the same thing. She hoped it was the anti-jinx, but she didn't want to wait to find out whose would take full effect first. She handed Hagrid his binoculars, and raced down the steps of the Gryffindor stands, sprinted to the stands where the professors sat, and snuck quickly up behind Quirrell.

Ron had picked up the discarded binoculars and turned to keep an eye on Harry. The Slytherin Beaters moved to catch Harry, but the closer they got, the higher the broom took him. They settled for circling like vultures under his jerking form, hoping to catch him if he fell.

Gryffindor, not entirely scrupulous when it came to winning against Slytherin, seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

Hermione crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well chosen words. Bright blue flames shot out of her wand on to the hem of Quirrell's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Quirrell to realize he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket she scrambled back along the row – Quirrell would never know what had happened.

It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

"Neville, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes; not able to bear the sight of Harry's hectic ride. He would never forget Harry's unselfish saving of him from his own frantic flight earlier in the year.

Harry was speeding towards the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to retch – he hit the pitch on all fours – coughed – and something gold fell into his hands.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

"He didn't _catch_ it, he nearly _swallowed_ it," the Weasley twins cried bitterly. But it made no difference. Harry hadn't broken any rules and Slytherin had won the match! Harry heard none of this, however.

* * *

As soon as the fever died down, Draco, Ron and Hermione had dragged him off to Hagrid's hut co calm down; Hagrid was making him a strong cup of tea. And strong, by Hagrid's standards, was probably enough to take the varnish off of good furniture.

"It was Quirrell," Hermione was explaining. "I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, "who hadn't seen what had transpired next to him in the stands. " Why would Quirrell do somethin' like that?"

The foursome looked at teach other, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth.

"We found something out about him," he told Hagrid. "He let that troll in as a diversion on Hallowe'en so he could get somewhere he wasn't supposed to up on the third floor. Hermione saw him headed there after he came out of his pretend faint in the Great Hall. Professor Snape diverted him, but not before something tried to take a bite out of his leg; did a worse job on Quirrell though. Hope it hurt," Harry said bitterly.

"Fluffy wouldn't hurt anybody," said Hagrid under his breath.

"Fluffy?" queried Draco.

"Shouldn'ta told yeh that," said Hagrid.

"Is that why Professor Dumbledore said we weren't to go into that corridor," asked Hermione, "because there's some creature up there . . ." she peered into Hagrid's eyes . . . "guarding something? Hogwarts _is_ supposed to be one of the safest places around if you have something that _needs_ protecting," she finished assuredly.

Before Hagrid could reply, Ron burst in. "You named something that bit two professors on the leg _Fluffy!"_

Hagrid looked sharply at Ron. "He wouldn't hurt no one that weren't trying to get past the trapdoor he's guarding, Ron!" He paled. "Shouldn'ta told yeh that." Hagrid sighed. He was loyal to the Headmaster beyond any reasonable doubt, but he could never be a Secret Keeper; especially with these four. He wouldn't have to be tortured; he'd give the information freely. He didn't do it out of any malice; he just didn't know when to stop talking.

Draco raised an eyebrow; eerily reminiscent of Professor Snape.

"Whatever he's guarding, it must be very important. Dumbledore must trust you a great deal, Hagrid, to include you in its protection. I'm sure you wouldn't hand over control of one your creatures to just _anybody_," he drawled in a silky, confident voice that made Hagrid beam with pleasure.

Hagrid had eventually come to terms that Draco wasn't out to stab Harry in the back, and he smiled brightly at the young boy. "Very important, that it is, young Draco. But that's between your Headmaster and Nicolas Flamel, that is."

"Aha!" Exclaimed Harry. "So there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved?"

Hagrid groaned. "Shouldn'ta told yeh that neither." He looked furious with himself.

Hermione patted him gently. "We won't tell on you, Hagrid. We're _very_ grateful that you told us. It might have to do why Professor Quirrell was trying to knock Harry off his broom with that hurling hex."

Hagrid looked somewhat placated as he shooed the quartet out the door; but he still shook his, angry at himself, and took a swig of the tea Harry had left behind. It was so strong by this point that it may well have been alcoholic!

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Christmas is coming; the goose is getting fat. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. Ron cheered them on for it, though. The foursome had started bringing other students into their group as Professor Snape had suggested. Ron's brothers were among the first. Ron felt that the trick on Quirrell made up for some of their past animosity towards Harry.

The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver post had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the common rooms and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the draughty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

The few either that possessed a predisposition for Potions, or those whom had come to enjoy the subject, despite the professor's rather caustic teaching methods, understood that that the cooler air was to protect the more volatile ingredients – warmer temperatures could cause them to explode or at best expire before they were used – but the knowledge did little to brighten the prospect of sitting in an ice box for single or double periods.

In one Double Potions period, Millicent Bulstrode, a large, over-bearing troll of a girl – Harry had decided that some Pureblood families must be both closely inter-related and perhaps pure only as far as human blood went – brought the unrest between her trio and the foursome to a head.

"I feel awfully sorry," she drawled, in a voice dripping with insincerity, "for the people who have to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas because their _very own families _don't want them."

She was looking at Harry when she spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them. Bulstrode had been even more unpleasant since the Quidditch match, despite the fact that Harry had won the game for them, due to the inter-House banner that the Gryffindor stand had sported.

It was true that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor Snape had come around the week before, making a list of his students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had signed up at once. He didn't feel sorry for himself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas he'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie. Draco would be going home, of course, he didn't want to arouse any suspicions with his parents, but had promised to owl something fun to Harry if he had a chance.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound indicated that it was Hagrid who was carrying it.

"Oi! Need some help there, Hagrid?" Ron asked, peering around the branches of the tree?"

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Bulstrode's bitter voice from behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be the gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose – that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."

Ron dived at Bulstrode just as Snape came up the stairs.

"WEASLEY!"

Ron let go of the front of Bulstrode's robes.

"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. "Bulstrode was insultin' his family."

"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you." The three paused a moment, sneering at Ron for his deduction of House Points, when the professor's smooth voice came again. "Well, what are you waiting for? I shall count to three. There will be no . . . four."

At that, Bulstrode, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the three, scattering needles everywhere, and smirking. Snape quirked an eyebrow at Harry and Draco and continued on his way down the corridor.

"I'll get her," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Bulstrode's back, "one of these days, I'll get her –"

"If I were you, Ron," Draco interjected, "I'd be glad Professor Snape interrupted when he did. Bulstrode may just be a girl, but she's got a mean right-hook. Always has," he finished, a bit ruefully.

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat, it does."

So Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree – put it in the far corner, would you?"

The Hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls and no fewer than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

"How many days left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me – Harry, Ron, Draco, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

"Oh, yeah, you're right," said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had a multitude of golden and silver bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the newest tree.

"The library," said Hagrid, following them out of the Hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, we're not working," Draco told him smoothly. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."

"You _what_?" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here – I've told yeh – drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."

"We just want to know who he is, that's all," said Hermione.

"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added. "We must have been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him _anywhere_ – just give us a hint – I know I've read his name somewhere."

"I'm saying' nothin'," said Hagrid emphatically.

"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," concluded Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Quirrell was trying to steal? The trouble was they weren't quite sure where to begin since they didn't know what he might have done to get himself into a book in the first place. Draco and Ron both felt they had read his name somewhere before as well, but just where that might be eluded them.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulled them off the shelves at random, muttering to himself even still about _'the unfairness of Snape, making us think he was a nice guy, the greasy git,'_. Draco looked at Harry and shrugged a bit helplessly.

"I suppose at some point, perhaps sooner than later, we should explain about the two faces of Professor Snape, before Ron does something foolish," said Draco, "but I'm not sure the library is the best place for that sort of discussion."

Harry nodded; the professor had warned him right off that if Harry wasn't in Slytherin, he, Snape, might have to treat Harry in quite the unfriendly manner to keep up appearances. At least in public.

"Why don't you give him an idea at least, for the time being, Draco," Harry suggested. "It couldn't hurt."

So Draco followed Ron down the aisle and gave him a whispered explanation with promises of more to come at a later, more private date and place while Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section. He'd been wondering for awhile if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of those books, and he knew no one would ever grant such a privilege to a first year. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never actually taught at Hogwarts and only ready by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, boy?"

"Nothing," said Harry.

Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.

"You'd best get out, then. Go on – out! No, boy, not that way, that's it, that's the exit; shoo!"

Wishing he'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story; he figured as a Slytherin that was something he ought to work on, Harry left the library. He, Ron, Hermione, and Draco had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Quirrell hearing what they were up to.

Harry waited in the corridor to see if the others had found anything, but he wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for a fortnight, after all, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks.

Five minutes later, the other three joined him, shaking their heads. Ron seemed a bit calmer, and they head off to lunch, parting ways at the Hall doors to head to their respective tables.

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Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They each had a dormitory to themselves and were making the most of it; usually hanging out in the Gryffindor common room as it was much warmer than any spot in the dungeons. They sat by the fireplace eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork – bread, crumpets, marshmallows, and plotting ways to get the three lumps of Slytherin expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.

Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. It was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figurines were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family – in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had any trouble getting to do what he wanted.

Harry played with chessmen that Professor McGonagall had lent him and they didn't trust him at all. He wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was very confusing.

On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all; he had no reason to. When he woke early next morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," came the rich voice of his professor from the doorway of his dorm.

Harry looked up at Snape, blinking as he reached for his glasses. He looked at the end of his bed; the presents were still there. Wordlessly, he stared at Snape, unsure how this came about and disbelieving that they were for him.

"What? Nothing clever to say?" drawled Severus, but there was no bite to his words.

"_I_ have presents?" Harry finally managed to croak out. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat.

"Your _relatives_ did send you something," he sneered, but then his face cleared, "but you will find the rest are from your friends and acquaintances here at Hogwarts. In fact, I believe Mr. Weasley is waiting outside with his own pile so that you may open them together. Would you like for me to let him in?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, please, sir. I'd like that very much," awe still in his voice.

Severus gave Harry a brief smile, just a quick quirk of his lips, before he left in a swirl of robes to allow Ron passage into the Slytherin common rooms.

"Happy Christmas, Harry!" exclaimed Ron, a bit sleepily, as he raced past Snape into Harry's room. Harry pulled on his dressing gown and flashed a smile at his friend.

"You too," said Harry. "Will you look at this? I've got some presents!"

"What did you expect, turnips?" said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry's.

Harry flashed an embarrassed grin at Professor Snape who was still standing in the doorway watching the boys, holding his morning cup of coffee.

"Do you want to . . . join us, Professor?" Harry asked softly.

Severus considered, watching Ron covertly. When the red headed boy made no overt gesture of displeasure at Harry's suggestion, he nodded briefly. "Let us move into the common room, then," he announced, "where there are actual chairs. You boys may be able to walk again after sitting on the cold stone floor, but I believe I am past that point myself."

Harry and Ron shrugged, scooped up their presents and moved out of the dorm to sit in front of the fire. It was rather cozy here, anyhow, sitting in front of the fire on Christmas morning, opening presents . . . and drinking the hot cocoa that was sitting on the table waiting for them.

"Wow, thanks Professor Snape!" said Ron happily as he spotted the large mugs. Snape nodded perfunctorily, sipping from his mug, eyes expressionless as always, but Harry felt he was happy. Or at least, happy for Snape.

Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was _To Harry, from Hagrid_. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it – it sounded a bit like an owl.

A second, very small parcel contained a note.

_We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia_. Sellotaped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

"That's friendly," said Harry. Snape raised an eyebrow but did not comment.

Ron was fascinated. "_Weird!_" he said. "What a shape! This is _money?_"

"You can keep it," said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was. "Hagrid and my aunt and uncle – so who sent these?"

"I think I know who that one's from," said Ron, going a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My Mum. I told her you didn't expect many presents and – oh, no," he groaned, "she's made you a Weasley jumper."

Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of home-made fudge.

"Every year she makes us a jumper," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and mine's _always_ maroon."

"That's really nice of her," said Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty.

"And I thought you liked your House colours, Mr. Weasley," interjected Professor Snape.

Ron made a face. "They're okay _together_," he explained, "but maroon by itself is just. . . _Bleaaargh_." Harry stifled a giggle.

Harry's next present also contained sweets – a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione.

This left only one parcel. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped it.

Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor, where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped. Snape's eyes widened momentarily, but neither boy noticed.

"I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every-Flavour Beans he'd got from Hermione. "If that's what I think it is – they're really rare, and _really _valuable."

"What is it?"

Harry picked up the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was peculiar to touch, like water woven into material.

"It's an Invisibility Cloak," said Ron, a look of aw on his face. "I'm sure it is – try it on."

Harry through the Cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell.

"It is! Look down!"

Harry looked down at his feet, but they had gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in mid-air, his body completely invisible. He pulled the Cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.

"There's a note!" said Ron suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"

Harry pulled off the Cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words.

_Your father left this in my possession before he died._

_It is time it was returned to you._

_Use it well._

_A Very Merry Christmas to you._

There was no signature. Harry started at the note. Ron was admiring the Cloak.

"I'd give _anything_ for one of these," he said. "_Anything_. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the Cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father?

Ron's stomach grumbled suddenly, and he stood up and stretched. "Harry, I think I'm going to head up to breakfast, want to come?"

"In a bit, Ron, alright?"

"Sure, mate. I'm going to go watch George and Fred try to manhandle Percy into a _family_ breakfast. I tell you; sometimes you'd think he hates being seen with us in public."

Ron gathered up his gifts and left the dungeons.

Harry was still staring at his Father's cloak.

"Professor?" Harry turned to face the older man with a bewildered expression on his face. "Was this really something my Father owned?"

Severus carefully schooled his face into an expressionless mask. "Yes, Harry, I remember him using that cloak quite often."

"You said once that you would tell me about my Father, sir, when it was a more appropriate time? Would this be a good time?"

Severus was tempted to lie; to say it wasn't, that he had things to do, but the wistful, childish tone that Harry had unknowingly used eased his mood.

"Sit down, Harry," he said neutrally, "and I'll tell you what I can."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Harry Potter the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

_Author's Note_

_**ElizabethMorgana** – Blaise is and always will be a boy. And so says JKR._

_**Kkwy **– Right quote, wrong film. Alan Rickman was never in Monty Python._

_**Rickmanism** means it is something Alan Rickman said in one of his films, or if I'm feeling particularly wicked, an interview. John Cleese (Nearly Headless Nick) is in the Monty Python Troop, but not Rickman. I won't give it away yet . . . see if any new (or old) readers can catch it first._

_But shall we say . . . **2.5 points to Slytherin** for the correct quote, at least, especially since no one else even took a stab at it!_

_Also, just to remind you, Slave4Severus and I now have a Yahoo group you can join and keep up to date with how the stories are progressing, fan art and other juicy tidbits. We may even have a group shirt you can order! _

_To join the group, visit us at the following URL (take the spaces out to make it a valid link!)_

_groups . yahoo . com / group / Severus-ItsWhatsForDinner_

_Thanks for all the reviews you guys, they really cheer me up. Excited to see I'm picking up some new readers as well. Hope you'll follow me through the other books as well. I'm glad to see that people are happy that Ron is still friends with Harry; there are an awful lot of stories where he's a complete git because of the House Harry is sorted into and I thought we needed something different!_

_Yours,_

_MysticSong1978_

_P.S. Keep an eye out for more Rickmanisms once again; This one is more obscure and perhaps a less known film so I may give you extra points so I just want the** film title and your House**! I will give all answers before I start up the next story.  
_

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"So," began Harry, settling back into the chair across from Severus, "about my Father?"

Severus sighed wearily and launched into his story without preamble. "James and I came to Hogwarts the same year, Harry. He and his friends were all in Gryffindor – although Sirius, being a Black, surprised everyone by being placed in the House of foolish courage and impetuousness. I was, obviously, a Slytherin. If someone is Head of House, you can safely assume that is the House they were in as a student. Or the equivalent if from another school. Growing up, I was forced to learn lots of dark magic; I knew more than many seventh years did; but it was for my own protection from my Father than the true desire to know such magic as a young boy. Father did not give me any choice; it was that or suffer much chastisement, and often the punishment came regardless. I came to Hogwarts with expectations and hope for once in my life. Although I imagined I would be put in Slytherin because of my experiences, I did not really care if I was in another House, even if it would bring the wrath of my Father down on me for _not living up to the Family name_," Snape said a bit disgustedly.

Harry sat still through all of this, wanting to know about his Father but sensing that Severus needed to explain this bit of his past first. He waited while the older man took a sip of tea to wet his parched throat; Severus was typically a man of few words.

"Clearly, I was sorted into Slytherin. My placement was enough to make your Father and his friends hate me; I was just another lowly serpent, but things are never purely that simple. James had his friends – Remus, Sirius, and Peter; they called themselves _The Marauders_ and were forever causing trouble, running amuck. It always seemed as if the Gryffindors could get away with anything they liked. Even when it put other people in danger."

Snape's lips curled in distaste and Harry wondered what they had done to his Head of House to make him so repulsed by his Father and his friends.

"Things were made worse in one of our Double DADA classes where we were paired together – your Father and I; it was bad enough that the class was a Slytherin/Gryffindor match. The Headmasters have always done that in hopes for inter-house loyalty and never had any success. How curious that after all this time, your insistence on not judging others may be all it takes to dispel the deep hatred between Gryffindor and Slytherin students."

His lips now quirked in a brief smile which Harry returned.

"Harry, I accidentally hexed your Father with a high level curse. It was very similar to what we were working on in class and I had trouble with the wand movement; it resulted in James receiving some nasty cuts that took weeks to heal properly as well as him needing several blood-replenishing draughts. Since we were not on good terms to begin with, I was never able to convince him I had not done it on purpose. James and his comrades then took every opportunity to humiliate me with tricks far worse than the Weasley twins would ever pull on someone. The Marauder pranks were pulled out of hatred, not joyous amusement of young boys."

He took another sip of tea. "I withdrew further into myself, pouring my heart into the one subject I really enjoyed."

"Potions?"

"Yes, Harry, Potions. I knew the essentials before coming here, but my Father had been more interested in other magic and it was not until I was a student that I discovered the joy of Potion brewing." He allowed the briefest of smiles to grace his face. "The downside of spending all your time bent over a cauldron, however, is the fumes and splatters end up in your hair and I _earned_ the nickname of _'greasy git'_ from James and company. Something which I still hear from the Gryffindors, usually preceded by _'evil'. _The other Slytherins and I became closer, although I was primarily befriended by an older, quite handsome student, full of charm and smooth grace. He always treated me with utmost respect and deference. It was not until my sixth year that I learned how twisted and cruel he could be." A pause. "You've met him, in fact. The day I took you to purchase your school things. The _charming_ blond man who believes I took you into my good graces to please the Dark Lord. Lucius Malfoy."

Harry's mouth gaped open for a moment as he gathered his wits about him. "_That_ was Draco's F_ather!_" A nod from Severus. "No wonder he said he didn't want to arouse any suspicions from his Father because of our friendship. I didn't understand at the time, but now I do. The Dark Lord is Voldemort, isn't it?"

Severus winced at the Dark Lord's name. "Yes, Harry, one and the same. I used to serve him."

Harry's eyes widened at Severus' words and he remembered his first conversation when Severus had given him an unfathomable look when Harry asked why he called Voldemort the Dark Lord if it was a Death Eater term. _'Severus was a Death Eater!'_

"My servitude only increased your Father's animosity towards me, and I towards him – and your Mother, or at least on the surface. Lily tutored me in a few subjects which I had trouble with. To protect myself I treated her as my fellow Slytherins expected any pureblood to treat a Muggleborn, a _mudblood_, but I did not hate your Mother. She stood up for me more than once. Eventually I became disheartened with my life and came to Albus for salvation and became a spy for the Light. Should the Dark Lord rise again, I will go back into leading a double-life."

"I thought Voldemort died when he tried to kill me?" Harry asked, unconsciously rubbing his scar.

Severus shook his head. "He may have become very weak, yes, so weak that he had to go into hiding, but he is not dead, Harry."

"How can you know that?"

Severus thrust his left arm forward, yanked up his sleeves, brandishing the faint but still very clear Dark Mark that had been burned into his skin.

"Because I still have this."

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Harry had missed breakfast due to his long discussion with Severus. The man hadn't fully explained, Harry knew, why he hated his Father, and why his Father hated Severus. He had a feeling it was too painful for the man to admit to a student, especially when said student was the son of his childhood enemy, even if said student was one of his Slytherins and nothing like his Father. Harry was a little disappointed that he hadn't learned more about what his Father liked to do – besides antagonizing people – but they had gotten off topic with discussion about Voldemort and Severus' unexpected unveiling of his Dark Mark had pretty much ended the discussion. Harry shrugged. He was sure there were other professors who could tell him about his Father.

Severus had gotten a tray of food for Harry, and slipped away to his private lab to work on his research. Harry slowly munched on the items on the tray and then returned to his room with his gifts to go though them again.

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Harry slipped out of the dungeons later to have dinner with Ron and his brothers and the handful of other students, as well as the staff who had stayed for the holidays. Harry had never seen such a wonderful spread for Christmas dinner. Petunia always went all out – not that he got to eat much of it, not even the dishes he was forced to make – but it couldn't begin to compare to the dishes offered up this Christmas afternoon.

A hundred fat, roast turkeys, mountains of roast and boiled potatoes, platters of fat chipolatas, tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce – and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic crackers were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear-admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up on the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just told him.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lop-sided. Professor Snape was the only one who appeared unaffected by the Christmas spirit, but Harry noticed that his Head of House had sampled nearly every dish that had been available, and smiled to himself.

When Harry finally left the table he was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a grow-your-own-warts kit and his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Harry had a horrible feeling that they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris' Christmas dinner.

Harry and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight in the grounds. Then, cold, wet and gasping for breath they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry broke in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much.

After a nice tea of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George around the tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.

It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he was on his way back to his own common room and crawled into his four-poster bed that he was free to think about it: the Invisibility Cloak and whoever had sent it. He leant over the side of his bed and pulled the Cloak out from under it.

His father's . . . this had been his _father's_. He let the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note had said.

He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the Cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw the moonlight and shadows. It was very funny feeling.

_Use it well._

Suddenly Harry felt wide awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him in this Cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in the dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

He crept out of the dormitory, not sure if Professor Snape was still up and about, not wanting to get caught by his Head of House who could shift from friendly to snarky git as deftly as the shifting sands in the House Point Hourglasses.

Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was. He set off, drawing the Cloak tight around him as he walked.

The library was pitch black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in mid-air and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope which separated these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.

They didn't tell him much. Their peeling faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imaging it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.

He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting-looking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with difficulty, as it was very heavy, and balancing it on his knee, let it fall open.

A piercing, blood-curdling screech split the silence – the book was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the noise went on and on, one high, unbroken, ear-splitting note. Later, when Harry was able to process the library experience, as he called it, he would liken it to the Siren Song in the mythology stories he had enjoyed so much in his Muggle schooling, but in reverse – the note drove him away from the temptation instead of drawing him to it.

He stumbled backwards and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside – stuffing the screeching book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch almost in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through him and Harry slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in his ears.

Harry came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armour. He had been so busy getting away from the library that he hadn't paid a bit of attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognize where he was at all. There was a suit of armour near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone . . . any sniveling little –

"Mind your language man! There is no need for obscenities!" Professor Snape's voice came through the air in unusually harsh tones, even for him. Filch paused a moment before continuing where he had been cut off.

– student was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library – Restricted Section!"

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a short cut, because his soft greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was his Head of House who replied.

"The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into him – the Cloak didn't stop him from being solid.

He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief he managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past and Harry leant against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in.

It looked like an ordinary, disused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls and there was an upturned waste-paper basket – but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of sight.

Harry had to investigate, albeit cautiously, he wasn't a Slytherin for anything! He may have inherited some of his parents more heroic, oft-called foolish Gryffindor ways, but he learned early on that Slytherins lived longer and he was intent on upholding that ideal.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.

His initial panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch or Professor Snape, Harry moved closer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed – for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people behind him

But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror.

There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder – but, still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air – she and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes – _'her eyes are just like mine,'_ Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green – exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just like Harry's did.

Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.

"Mum?" he whispered. "Dad?"

They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees – Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.

The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them like some sad version of _Alice Through the Looking Glass_, but unlike Alice and unlike the glass he had vanished in the zoo with his cousin, the mirror stayed solid. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, and half terrible sadness.

How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here; he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.

-

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-

-

"You could have woken me up," said Ron, crossly, the next morning at breakfast. The regular House tables were gone during breaks, leaving just one table that would resize itself depending on how many had stayed behind for the holidays.

"How would I have gotten into your common room, Ron?" Harry asked sensibly. "Anyhow, you can come tonight, I'm going back, and I want to show you the mirror."

"I'd like to see your mum and dad," Ron said eagerly.

"And I want to see all you family, all the Weasley's, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone."

"You can see them any old time," said Ron. "Just come around my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"

But Harry couldn't eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important any more. Who cared what the three-headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Quirrell stole it, really?

"Are you all right?" asked Ron. "You look odd."

-

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-

What Harry feared most was that he would be unable to find the mirror room again. With Ron covered in the Cloak too, they had to walk much more slowly. They tried retracing Harry's route from the library, wandering around in the dark passageways for nearly an hour.

"I'm freezing," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back we get frostbite, or worse, caught."

"Worse?" asked Harry.

"Madam Pomfrey can cure frostbite, Harry, but caught is caught."

Harry shook his head, part amusement, part frustration. "I know it's around here somewhere."

They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armour.

"It's here – just here – yes!"

They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the Cloak and ran to the mirror.

There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.

"See?" Harry whispered.

"I can't see anything."

"Look! Look at them all . . . there are loads of them . . . "

"I can only see you."

"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."

Harry stepped aside, but with Ron n front of the mirror, he couldn't see his family any more, just Ron in his paisley pyjamas.

Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.

"Look at me!" he said.

"Can you see all your family standing around you?"

"No – I'm alone – but I'm different – I look older – and I'm Head Boy!"

"_What?"_

"I am – I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to – and I'm holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup – I'm Quidditch captain, too! And, blimey, I'm _handsome_!"

Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at Harry.

"Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it?" Harry asked wanly. "All my family are dead – let me have another look –"

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time"

"You're only holding the Quidditch Cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents."

"Don't push me –"

A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.

"Quick!"

Ron threw the Cloak back over them just as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came round the door. Ron and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the same thing – did the Cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she turned and left.

"This isn't safe – she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on."

And Ron pulled Harry out of the room.

-

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-

The snow still hadn't melted next morning. Ron had come down to the dungeons to visit with Harry.

"Want to play chess, Harry?"

"No."

"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?"

"No . . . you go . . . "

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight."

"Why not?" Harry asked indignantly.

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it – and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Mrs. Norris, your own Head of House, whom I may point out may be friendly at times but probably won't be too pleased if he caught you wandering around at night. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"

"You sound like Hermione."

Ron just shook his head. "I'm serious, Harry, don't go."

But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in front of the mirror, and Ron wasn't going to stop him.

-

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That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast that he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn't meet anyone.

And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all.

Except –

"So – back again, Harry?"

Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall as none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked right past him, so desperate to get to the mirror that he hadn't noticed him.

"I – I didn't see you, sir.

"Fascinating how short-sighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.

"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off of the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, "you like hundreds before you have discovered the delights and sorrows of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, sir."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

"It – well – shows me my family—"

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as Head Boy?"

"How did you know – ?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want – whatever we want . . ."

"Yes, and no," Dumbledore said quietly, sadly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have waste away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever _do_ run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not go to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put on that admirable Cloak and get off to bed?"

Harry stood up. His eyes were bright with unshed tears and he clenched and unclenched his jaws, willing himself not to cry in front of the Headmaster.

"It felt so real, sir. My Mum, she cried the first night I saw her, but last night she waved and smiled at me, as if she knew me . . ."

The Headmaster gently patted Harry's shoulder in comfort. "It is a bit like the Wizarding portraits that talk and move, my boy, but less so in other ways. A great joy, I know, to see your parents, your ancestors, but you cannot live on dreams alone."

"Do you think they're ashamed of me, being in Slytherin, I mean? I know they . . . or Dad at least . . . was pretty mean to Professor Snape when they were students, just over House rivalries. . . ."

Dumbledore appraised Harry carefully. "I think, my dear boy, that your parents would be proud of you no matter what House you were in. Your Father might have needed time to adjust to his son being a Slytherin, if that were even the case had you been raised under different circumstances, but he would have come around. I think as an adult he was someone that could have been friends with Severus, but he had hurt your Head of House too many times by then, I'm afraid, for there to be much of a relationship beyond cool civility."

"Sir – Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously you have just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the Mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Harry stared, his tears forgotten for the moment.

"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

It was only when was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he turned over, trying to get comfortable, missing the warmth that other bodies in the dorm room added to the dungeons chill air, it had been quite a personal question.

-

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Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again and for the rest of the Christmas holidays, the Cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry wished he could forget what he had seen in the Mirror as easily, but he couldn't. He started having nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light while a high voice cackled with laughter.

Severus, although quite displeased to learn that Harry had been sneaking about in his Father's Cloak . . . _'like Father like Son,'_ he mused, he kept his thoughts to himself as he taught Harry how to brew the Draught of Dreamless Sleep, warning him that it could be very addictive, and, when used too often, would render the drinker permanently immune to it.

"You see," Ron said, when Harry told him what had happened, although he left out the discussion he had had with the Headmaster about his parents and about Professor Snape teaching him to brew such a high level potion, "Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad."

Draco and Hermione, who came back they day before term started, took a different view of things. They were both disappointed that Flamel still remained a mystery, but Hermione was horrified that Harry had been sneaking about the castle and Draco was intrigued and thought desperately that it would not be all that bad of an idea to see what his heart held as his deepest desire. He was pretty sure it wasn't anything his Father would approve.

Draco apologized for not being able to send any gifts back, but had explained that his Father wanted a lot of _personal_ time, that is to say, time to prepare Draco for service to the Dark Side when he came of age, so he couldn't very well be seen sending gifts off to _The Boy Who Lived_.

Harry winced at the title and told Draco not to worry; that he didn't want his friend getting in trouble over him, he wasn't really worth it. Ron stepped in at this point, telling Draco to excuse Harry's bloody stupid remark, that he'd never had a proper Christmas before and didn't understand that of course he deserved the presents he got. This spiraled into an argument over parenting until it was time to go eat, at which point they split up and headed to their respective tables.

Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Harry had even less time than the other three, because Quidditch practice had started again.

Flint was working the team harder than ever, as was Wood, from what Harry glimpsed of the exhausted Gryffindor team. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. If they won their next match against Hufflepuff, surely an easy victory, they would overtake Gryffindor in the House Championship. Again. As much as Harry liked his Gryffindor friends, he felt great delight in being part of a winning team for once in his life; always chosen last or not at all in his Muggle school, it gave Harry an inner glow.

During one particularly intense training session, Flint informed them that their Head of House would be refereeing the next match. Harry and the others looked up in interest. "Did he lose a bet with Madam Hooch again?" asked on of the older players.

Flint laughed and shook his head. "I don't really know why he is refereeing, but I suspect the Headmaster had something to do with it. You're not likely to get it out of him either, he's looking snarkier than usual with this development."

Draco had been watching the practice, and he walked back to the castle with Harry. They ran into Hermione and Ron in the Great Hall. As they were passing the hallway to the Library, Neville hopped by looking quite distraught. He stopped at the sight of them.

Draco and Hermione looked at each other; they were the only ones of the five of them who recognized the Leg-Locker curse. Draco sighed, drew his wand and waved it at a nervous Longbottom, _"Finite Incatum!"_

Neville tumbled over as his legs separated suddenly. He paused a moment to collect his breath. He looked at Draco with something akin to awe and wonderment. "Thank you," he said, a hint of a blush tingeing his cheeks.

Draco seemed equally discomfited. "Who cast the Leg-Locker curse on you anyhow?" asked Hermione.

"Bulstrode," came Neville's quiet answer. "She was looking for someone to practice on."

Draco shook his head in annoyance at his Housemate. "You should go to Professor McGonagall" Ron urged Neville. "Report her!"

Neville shook his head. "I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.

Another two students suddenly raced out of the hallway Neville had come from, overshot the group, stopped, and turned back. "Are you okay, Neville," asked a small, pretty Slytherin girl.

He nodded. "Draco undid the charm," Pansy.

"Bulstrode won't be trying that again anytime soon," the Slytherin boy said with friendly smirk gracing his almost feminine features.

Draco looked at surprise at his classmates.

"Pansy? Blaise? You hexed Bulstrode? For Neville?"

The two grinned in delight. "I got her with the Leg-Locker curse and Blaise here," she gestured to the boy with her, "got her with the Jelly-Legs Jinx. We figured that was adequate punishment for making Neville hop all the way out here to find help. We only caught the end of what was going on but it was obvious who did what. You know Crabbe and Goyle can't help brag. Stupid gits," Pansy said disparagingly.

Draco was stunned. "When did you start befriending students in other Houses," he asked his Housemates.

Pansy and Blaise glanced at each other. "Oh, not long after the Troll incident," Blaise offered. We realized then that you four were genuinely friends and since we personally do not have any problems with half-bloods and Muggleborn students, we figured we would branch out of Slytherin and do the same.

Harry grinned. "Should we make our group a Septuplet then? The Smashing Seven?"

The other students giggled and appraised each other, nodding. "We'd like that," said Blaise.

"Me too," said Neville. "Gran would probably die at my befriending a _Malfoy_," at this he grinned cheerfully at Draco, "but I think it's great to see some of the enmity end. I think it would help my nerves."

Draco nodded in understanding. "My Father would be no less pleased, probably more so, than your Gran at my befriending of Muggleborns – and he'd use a much less friendly term – Gryffindors in general and especially Harry here, so I'm keeping that all under wraps for now, but I agree with Neville."

Hermione smiled at the new Slytherins. "I'm pleased to meet you both," she said. "I'm Hermione Granger and this," she pulled at Ron's sleeve, "is Ron Weasley."

Pansy smiled, a slight blush on her fair features, "Nice to meet you, Ron, I'm Pansy Parkinson."

Blaise smiled at the two Gryffindors as well, a blush also on his face, though Draco and Harry, much to their consternation, were unsure if it was due to Hermione or Ron or both . . . they wisely decided to keep that bit of information to themselves for the time being.

"And I," he said, sweeping into an over-exaggerated bow with a charming boyish grin, "am Blaise Zabini. It is a _pleasure_," this word stressed with enough innuendo to bring a round of blushes to the group, "to meet you."


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

_Author's Note_

_This is a REPOST of Chapter 19. The author would like to thank_ Purple Artichokes from Mars _for bringing a really stupid mistake to her attention. Pansy should not have called the Headmaster by his first name. My beta and I both checked this but we were both very tired and I was not feeling well._

_Join my group, visit us at the following URL (take the spaces out to make it a valid link!)_

_http:groups . yahoo . com / group / Severus-ItsWhatsForDinner_

_Please forgive me for the unusual shortness of this chapter. I wanted to get something up today and I needed this bit to be not quite as long as my last several chapters have been. I'm getting close to the end of the first book and want the final chapter of this rewrite to only contain certain events._

_When HPPS2 is complete, you can expect to see HPCOS2 at some point, but no promises for when. I am leaving for Buffalo, NY, for my Spring Break starting March 26, but I will be taking my laptop with me and will write in my free time._

_Love, MysticSong1978_

Slytherin easily trounced Hufflepuff at Quidditch. Hufflepuffs were loyal and kind, but so rarely did one surface with a competitive streak that their House team rarely came out on top. Unlike the other Houses, though, they seemed content in merely playing a good, clean game, and did not seem overly disappointed at their loss.

Although Severus appeared annoyed at having to referee the match, he had actually volunteered to do so, to keep a closer eye on Harry during the game in case Quirrell should try something designed to unseat the boy – or worse.

Harry, to everyone's amazement, caught the snitch in under a minute of it being released, bringing Slytherin an easy victory.

Draco gave Harry a high-five after the team backed off a bit. Draco was soon joined by Pansy, Blaise, Ron, Hermione, and Neville, who raced Harry off the pitch back into the castle, celebratory behaviour in full swing. The professors seemed nonplussed as they watched this new, larger group of Gryffindor-Slytherin friends take off. Albus grinned whole-heartedly in delight, nearly blinding his colleagues with the glow in his eyes.

Severus shook his head, watching the friends with a bemused look. One that promptly turned to a frown when out of the corner of his eye he caught Quirrell heading off to the Forbidden Forest. Severus swiftly remounted his broom and followed suit.

Later that night, Harry knocked on the door to Professor Snape's private chambers.

"Enter."

Harry slowly pushed open the door and peered inside. "Sir? May I speak with you a moment, please?"

Severus nodded; eyes still on the paper he was marking. "Sit, Harry. What is it?"

Harry shut the door behind him and sat where Severus had indicated.

"One of the reasons I worked to catch the snitch so quickly today was because I could feel Quirrell watching me and it made my scar hurt. I didn't know if he was up to something or not, and I did not wish to experience a flight like I did during my first game."

Severus looked up at his student. "That is why I refereed, today, Harry. To protect you. I knew it would be easier if I was I the air than in the stands."

Harry nodded sagely. "We missed you at the celebration, tonight, sir."

Severus smirked. A thoughtful comment – phrased in such a manner to politely needle information out of someone. Harry made a fine Slytherin. James would be so . . . _'No, Severus, don't go there.'_

"I noticed Quirrell heading out to the Forbidden Forest, so I followed and threatened him." Severus paused. "I can sense the Dark Lord all around him, but it is very faint. I cannot place him, but I sense great danger. Do not let yourself be caught alone with him, Harry."

Harry was taken aback by the stark severity of his professor's tone, but he smiled and promised to be careful.

"You must be more than just careful, Mr. Potter. Your very life may depend upon it."

-

Hermione, however, as well as Pansy and Draco, had more on their minds than if Quirrell managed to make off with the Philosopher's Stone or not. Hermione had started drawing up revision tables for the upcoming exams, colour-coding all her notes – as well as rewriting many of them – and egging Ron and Neville to do the same. Blaise and Harry shrugged and went along with the Slytherin versions of Hermione, knowing it was easier in the long run to just give in, and besides, they wanted to do as well as they could.

As they sat in the library one day, Ron groaned, "Mione! The exams are _ages_ and _ages_ away. What are you getting so riled up for this early? Besides, you already know _everything_."

Hermione blushed at the unintended compliment, but still went after Ron like a dog worrying a bone. "Are you mad? They start in ten weeks! That's like a second if you're Nicolas Flame!"

"But we're not six hundred years old," Ron reminded her.

Hermione sniffed. "They are very important, Ron, we have to pass to get into second year!"

"I _know_ Mione. I do have older brothers, remember?"

Unfortunately for Ron, Neville having given to Hermione right away, the teachers were evidently thinking along the same lines. They piled on tons of homework. Ron complained bitterly to Harry the next time they had a spot of free time about how Hermione spent all their evenings reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood or practicing wand movements. "Bet your evenings are more fun," said Ron.

Harry smirked. "Oh, yes, Ron, we have extra lessons from the older Slytherins in potions, charms, and DADA every evening. Especially DADA since Quirrell is such a joke." He paused. "It's not really that bad. You do want to get into second year, don't you?"

Ron just groaned and buried his face in his hands.

-

"I'll never remember all this," Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing his quill down and looking longingly out of the library window. It was the first really nice day they had had in months.

Harry, who was looking up 'Dittany' in _One Thousand Herbs and Fungi_, didn't look up until he heard Draco say, "Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"

Hagrid scuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.

"Jus lookin'," he sad, in a shifty voice that got the entire group's interest at once. "An' what're you lot up ter?" He looked suddenly suspicious. "Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh, we found out who he is ages ago," said Ron impressively. "_And_ we know what that dog's guarding, it's a Phil—"

"_Shhh!"_ Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. "Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?"

"There are few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," said Harry, "about what's guarding it apart from Fluffy –"

"SHHHHH! said Hagrid again, much more forcefully. "Listen – come an' see me later, I'm not promising' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed to know. They'll think I've told yeh—"

"See you later, then," said Blaise.

Hagrid shuffled off.

"What was he hiding behind his back?" wondered Pansy thoughtfully.

"Do you think it has to do with the Stone?" mused Hermione.

Pansy looked thoughtful. "No offense, but from what you all have told us, and from our meetings with Hagrid since we all joined forces, he doesn't seem the sort to be looking things up in the library. It doesn't seem like he has much to do with the Stone itself, beyond lending Fluffy toProfessor Dumbledoreanyhow."

Ron got a little flustered at this, but Neville shushed him. It was obvious that Pansy had not meant anything bad by what she said; Ron would just have to learn that the Slytherins were not usually . . . _tactful_.

Draco nodded in agreement, and standing, slipped over to the section Hagrid had vacated. A hiss of indrawn breath got Harry's attention. He went to check what Draco had found. The two boys stared at each other in despair.

"He couldn't really be . . ."

"He could. He'd love to have one. He told me so."

"But his house . . . and it _is_ illegal."

"Care to tell us what you found, boys?" called Blaise from his spot at the table.

Draco popped back around the shelves, a number of books in hand. He dropped them unceremoniously on the table.

Hermione turned one towards her. "_From Egg to Inferno: A Dragon Keeper's Guide_?"

Harry nodded. "He told me he's always wanted one for a pet."

"But where would he even get an egg," asked Ron. "It's against our laws. Has been since 1709, everyone knows."

"Even folks in Knockturn Alley would be hard pressed trying to sell dragon eggs," mused Draco.

"And Hagrid couldn't possibly raise one. They can't be tamed. You should see some of the burns Charlie has from his work."

"Are there actually wild dragons in Britain?" wondered Harry.

"Of course," continued Ron. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a quite a job hushing them up, I'll tell you. They are constantly placing spells on Muggles who have spotted them."

"So what on earth is Hagrid up to?" wondered Neville.

-

When they went to visit Hagrid later that day, they were surprised to see all the curtains closed.

Hagrid called out, "Who is it?" before letting them inside. He shut the door quickly behind them.

It was stiflingly hot inside. It was quite a warm day out, yet Hagrid had a blazing fire going. Hagrid made them tea and offered sandwiches; the latter of which they refused.

"So . . . yeh wanted to ask me somthin'?"

"Yes," said Harry firmly. "We were wondering if you could tell us what is guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy."

Hagrid scowled at them. "O' course I can't," he said. "Number one, I don' know myself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn't tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason, Harry. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts – I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all. Beats me how yeh even knew about Fluffy."

"Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not _want_ to tell us, but you _do_ know. You know _everything_ that goes on around here," said Blaise in a warm, flattering voice that made Hagrid blush slightly. "We only wondered who had _done_ the guarding, really," he went on. "We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you that is."

Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words. The six friends beamed at Blaise for his well-worked adulation of the Gamekeeper.

"Well, I don' suppose it would hurt ter tell yeh that. Albus borrowed Fluffy from me and then some o' the teachers helped out too. With Enchantments and such, yeh know. Professors Sprout, Flitwick, McGonagall, Quirrell, Dumbledore, and Snape." He beamed proudly at them for having remembered everyone.

The seven students looked at each other with worried expressions. It did not sit well with any of them that Quirrell was on the list, but it was pointless to discuss their fear with Hagrid who was prone to openly, foolishly even, trust anyone with "Hogwarts Professor" attached to his or her name. Perhaps it was time for a new discussion.

"Hagrid," cooed Hermione, "why were you reading books on dragon care today?"

"And can we open a window? It's boiling in here," complained Draco, wiping perspiration from his face.

"Can't, Draco, sorry," muttered Hagrid. Draco noticed him glance at the fire. The others looked too.

"Hagrid, what is _that_?" But Ron knew. In the very heart of the fire was a big, black egg.

"Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard. "That's er . . ."

"Where did you get it, Hagrid," questioned Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look. "It must have cost you a fortune."

"Won it," said Hagrid cheerfully. "Las' night. Was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it hatches?" said Hermione, a frown furrowing her face.

"Raise it, o' course, Hermione," beamed Hagrid, "jus' like it wer me own baby. Gots to feed it loads different though."

Hermione shook her head.

"I've been doing reading, not jus' wha' I had in the library, but a pile o' other books. I know I've got me a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."

He looked rather pleased with himself, but the seven friends did not.

"Hagrid, you live in a _wooden_ house!" exclaimed Pansy.

But Hagrid wasn't listening. He was humming to himself as he stoked the fire.

-

So now they had something else to worry about; Hagrid's illegal dragon and what would happen if he got caught, the Philosopher's Stone, and exams.

Depending to which of the seven others talked to would have brought varying responses to the order in which they were worried about said events, but they weren't really things they could _tell_ anyone about, so it simply appeared for all purposes that Hermione, Pansy, Blaise, Draco, Harry, Neville, and even Ron, were all very, very stressed about their impending end-of-year examinations.

-

One day at breakfast, Hedwig dropped a note into Harry's lap that simply read, "It's hatching."

Harry swallowed nervously and passed the note to Draco, who showed it to Pansy and Blaise. The four of them looked at each other, wide-eyed and in one smooth move, stood and made their way over to the Gryffindor table.

Unfriendly eyes from the table they departed from followed their movement as they signaled their Gryffindor counterparts and slipped into the hallway.

Huddled in an alcove, Draco revealed the note. Hermione, Ron and Neville eyed it and each other with something akin to fear in their eyes. "Nothing good will come of this," mused Neville, "mark my words."

Harry nodded. "Neville is right. I can feel it. But . . . we need to visit Hagrid and see what is happening and help him if we can."

Hermione looked torn between wanting to see a dragon born and how much trouble they could get into if they were caught. Not that they would be in trouble for _visiting_ Hagrid, but they all obviously knew it was wrong not to have informed anyone what he was up to. At the look on her friends' faces, however, she gave in and allowed herself to be pulled along down the hill to Hagrid's hut.

None of them noticed the person following them.

-

When the bell sounded, signaling the morning's break from classes, the friends met each other near the Herbology gardens where Ron, Hermione, and Neville had their morning lesson.

Hagrid greeted them, cheeks flushed, his excitement obvious.

"It's nearly out!" He ushered them inside.

The egg was lying on the table, the previously smooth surface mottled with creases and cracks where the baby had been studiously working to break through.

They gathered around the table, waiting with bated breath.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn't exactly pretty; Harry thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella that someone had tossed aside. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body and it had a long snout with wide nostrils, stubs or horns, and bulging orange eyes. Blaise thought it looked like a poor kid who had grown up too fast and hadn't yet become accustomed to his new frame.

Hagrid had no such thoughts. "Isn' he beautiful?"

It sneezed and a few sparks shot out its snout.

Hagrid leaned over to stroke the dragon's head. The dragon snapped at his fingers with wicked looking fangs.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!"

Draco and Harry just looked at each other.

"Hagrid," said Hermione, "just how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow?"

Hagrid was about to answer when the colour suddenly drained from his face. He leapt to his feet and dashed to the window.

"What's the matter?"

"Some fool kid was lookin' through the gap in the curtains – they're headin' back to the school."

Harry bolted to the door and looked out. There was no mistaking Bulstrode as she waddled back to the castle as fast as her stout legs could go.

The worst female in Slytherin had seen the dragon.

-

Something about the smile on Bulstrode's face during the next week made the friends very nervous. The spent most of their free time with Hagrid, trying to reason with him. Hagrid had an argument for everything they suggested.

Harry suddenly turned to Ron. "Charlie!"

Ron patted Harry on the head like he was a lost puppy. "No, Harry, I'm Ron, remember?"

Harry shook Ron off with a look of exasperation. "I _know_ that. I meant maybe Charlie could help us out."

They looked at Hagrid. Hagrid sighed but in the end agreed to allow Charlie to take little Norbert, as Hagrid had taken to calling him, away to the dragon community that he worked in.

-

The following week dragged by slowly. Wednesday night found Harry in his common room with Draco long after everyone else had gone to bed. The clock had just chimed midnight when a knock sounded at the door. Harry leapt from his seat and yanked the door open to find no one on the other side. He reached out a hand and touched his Invisibility cloak. "Ron?" he whispered.

Ron's hand appeared from under the cloak, a letter clutched in it. Harry took it. "I've already shared with Hermione. We couldn't find Neville anywhere." I've got to go. I'll get your cloak to you tomorrow. Harry nodded and gently shut the door. He turned to Draco and waved the letter at him.

"Let's see what Charlie had to say."

_Dear Ron,_

_How are you? Thanks for the letter – I'd be glad to take the dragon, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit next week. They mustn't be seen with an illegal dragon, though._

_Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it is still dark._

_Send me an answer as soon as possible._

_Love, Charlie._

Harry looked at Draco. "I think the cloak is big enough to cover two of us and Norbert. The question is who would be the best to deal with this situation?"

Draco thought for a moment. "You should go. It _is_ your cloak and all, you lucky sod."

Harry poked him.

"And . . . maybe Blaise. He's stronger than he looks. About your size too, so the cloak wouldn't be so hard to manage."

Harry nodded; glad the decision was made by someone else and was glad to see the end of this particular fiasco coming to a close.

That decided, Harry and Draco gathered up their notes and books and headed to their room. The note from Charlie slipped, unnoticed, from their arms and fluttered to the floor. Once the door to the boys' hall slid shut, Millicent Bulstrode slipped from her hiding place in the shadows and eagerly grabbed the letter from the stone floor.

A cruel smirk graced her lips when she read what it said.

-

They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came for him to say goodbye to Norbert if they hadn't been so worried about actually getting rid of the dragon which wasn't so small anymore.

Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready to go.

"He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey. An' I've packed his teddy bear so he won' get lonely."

From inside the crate came a loud ripping noise. Apparently Norbert had decided to eat the bear.

Hagrid sobbed as Harry and Blaise struggled out the door with the crate, trying to keep the Cloak in place.

How they managed to get back in the castle and all the way up the tower would remain a mystery to them.

A sudden movement in front of them nearly made them drop Norbert.

A lamp flared.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan dressing-gown and a hairnet, had Bulstrode by the ear.

"Detention!" she shouted. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how _dare_ you-"

"You don't understand, Professor, Harry Potter is coming – he's got a dragon!"

"Utter rubbish. How dare you tell me such lies? Come on – I'm taking you to see Professor Snape."

Harry and Blaise winced but remained silent.

About ten minutes later, four broomsticks appeared out of the gloomy night sky and headed for the tower.

Charlie's friends were a cheery lot. They showed Harry and Blaise the harness they had worked out so they could suspend Norbert between them. Harry had to admit it was very clever.

They helped buckle Norbert in, shook hands, thanked them profusely, and then they were gone.

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Blaise and Harry made their way back down the tower steps. Their hearts light now that Norbert was gone.

Unfortunately they ran into Filch at the bottom of the steps.

"Well, well, well," he whispered evilly, "we _are_ in trouble."

They'd left the Cloak at the top of the tower.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add into the mix as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

_Author's Note_

_Join my group: visit us at the following URL (take the spaces out to make it a valid link!) Keep up with story updates, new story ideas, story art, et cetera. You can find artwork on my personal website, which is linked in my profile._

_http/ groups . yahoo . com / group / Severus-ItsWhatsForDinner_

_I am dreadfully sorry for the long wait you all had to put up with between chapters. Lots going on in mundane life. Many stressful things for both Slave4Severus and myself. I have a new Hermione story up called "In Demand". It is complete / one-shot._

_When HPPS2 is complete, you can expect to see HPCoS2 at some point, but no promises for when. Once summer starts (I work in a school) I will be out of town (Buffalo, NY) and out of the country (Harry Potter tour) quite a bit of the summer. That does not mean I will not write when I can, but I cannot make any promises to regularity of posting. I do plan to write a fair bit of CoS2 before I start posting._

_I hope you all like the chapter. I was going to make this one big one and wrap it up but since it has been over a month, I am going to split it into two bits instead._

_Thank you for all the kind reviews and especially to: **Sukera**, my 200th reviewer!_

_Love, MysticSong1978_

* * *

Harry and Blaise first thought that things simply could not get worse. They had been so distracted in seeing Norbert off safely that they had left the cloak where they had dropped it when they helped Charlie get the travel box ready for flight.

Filch, the detested caretaker and his creepy cat, Mrs. Norris, were at the bottom of the stairs . . . as if they had been tipped off and were waiting for them. Harry swallowed nervously.

"Come with me," Filch intoned.

Harry and Blaise glanced at each other nervously and stepped forward to follow Filch down the hallway. He led them to the office of the Deputy Headmistress. Blaise raised an eyebrow at Harry in confusion. Why would Filch take them to see Professor McGonagall instead of their own Head of House?

Their unvoiced question was answered when they entered her office to find a distraught Neville Longbottom and a smug Millicent Bulstrode.

Filch grinned at the two boys, his demented smile growing wider as he exited the office. The door closed behind him to reveal an extremely displeased looking Professor Snape. He pointed at the remaining couch.

"Sit." His tone brooked no argument from either boy. They sat, hands together, heads down, sweat running rivulets under their suddenly ill-fitting uniforms.

Professor McGonagall began. "Tonight I found Miss Bulstrode wandering the halls. When I caught her, she gave me this story that you were coming with a _dragon_. I have already deducted twenty points from Slytherin for her nighttime wanderings and Professor Snape has assigned her detention. On my way back to my office I ran into Mr. Longbottom who had snuck out of Gryffindor Tower against the protests of Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley in attempt to warn you about the very thing he was doing – sneaking out at night. It would seem that you fed Miss Bulstrode this ridiculous story and Merlin only knows how you dragged Mr. Longbottom into believing it as well –"

Neville looked at Harry, horrified, and Harry tried to convey silently that he had not intended to set anyone up. Blaise too looked at Neville apologetically as he realized Neville had not been aware of the full extent of the plans to rid Hagrid of Norbert. Poor Neville had been making up a test when the final plans came together and no one had apparently filled him in. Now the poor boy thought his friends had set him up. They would have to correct that assumption as soon as possible.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape had seen the looks between the boys and knew that whatever the truth of the matter may be, they were certainly all guilty of _something_. Professor Snape was displeased to see more and more Gryffindor behaviours surface in Potter and that he had included Zabini in his extra-curricular adventure did not sit well with the dour man. He frowned at them; a look so severe it needed no words to convey his disappointment.

But words followed.

"I will be deducting 30 points from each of you as well as a shared detention with Miss Bulstrode."

Before either boy could respond, Professor McGonagall added her own mark. "Mr. Longbottom will join you three in that detention and will have twenty-five points taken from Gryffindor. I am completely ashamed of you four. We had better not catch out of bed again this year without a _very _good reason." Bulstrode smirked.

Professor Snape frowned. "That means, Miss Bulstrode, one that Professor McGonagall or I would consider a valid one. I believe my briefing of first years at the beginning of this school year should clarify that for you. If you have forgotten, one of the older students would be glad to reiterate it for you; I shall not be wasting my time on poor memories." He paused.

"Now get to bed, _all_ of you."

-----

----

---

--

-

When the unlucky students had cleared out, Professor Snape raised an eyebrow at the Deputy Headmistress. "Twenty-five points from your cub but only twenty from Bulstrode?"

The older woman sighed. "He managed to petrify Mr. Weasley _and_ Miss Granger in his desire to escape the Tower and speak with Mr. Potter."

Professor Snape smirked. Apparently, the boy was not a complete dunderhead in _all_ areas of magic.

-----

----

---

--

-

Neville, Blaise and Harry spent a restless night in their respective beds. No one knew, nor cared, what Bulstrode was feeling about this rapid turn of events. Blaise desperately hoped that Neville would believe the truth whenever the group next got together. The poor boy was so shy and sweet, it must have cost him all his nerves to go up against his friends the way he did to risk being out of bed so late in order to warn his two _Slytherin_ friends. Who would have thought he had it in him?

They sat their classes in deep funks that week with the exception of Bulstrode who kept throwing the seven friends triumphant smirks. Harry wanted to wipe that gloating expression right off her face but Draco had advised him not to openly confront the girl; the walls had ears. Malfoy Senior was still blissfully unaware of the unlikely friendships his son had developed and Draco wished to keep it that way for as long as possible – for his safety and that of his friends.

Draco hoped that his parents would not learn through some 'well-meaning' Slytherin about the drop in the points for the Slytherin House. Gryffindor had decreased some too, and since they had routinely lost points in Potions, Slytherin and Gryffindor were now about equal, both Houses furious with the knowledge that _Hufflepuff_ had more points.

Harry swore not to meddle in things that were none of his business in the future and strongly advised to his friends to do the same. He had had it with sneaking around and spying. Even the lure of his Father's Invisibility Cloak had lost its charm.

The seven were almost glad that exams were not far away; well, Hermione and Pansy were both bookworms already, but the other five were glad to have something else with which to occupy their thoughts. They worked late into the night, trying to remember the ingredients to complicated potions, learn charms and spells by heart, memorize the dates of the goblin rebellions; the names being impossible seeing as they all sounded the same: gibberish.

Then, about a week before exams were due to begin, Harry's new resolution not to interfere with anything was put to an unexpected test Walking back from the library on his own one afternoon, he heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. As he drew closer, he heard Quirrell's voice:

"No – no, not again, please, no –"

It sounded as though someone was threatening him. Harry moved closer.

"All right, all right," he heard Quirrell sob.

In the next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom, adjusting his turban. He was paler than Professor Snape was, and looked as though he were about to cry. He strode away, never noticing he was being watched. Harry waited until he was out of sight, and then peered into the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end. Harry was halfway across the room when he remembered his vow to himself; but whom had the man been talking to? Harry was sure this had to do with the Philosopher's Stone; was there another traitor in the castle?

He went back to the library where Hermione and Pansy were testing Ron and Draco on Astronomy. At another table, Blaise and Neville were reviewing Herbology. Harry told them what he had learned.

"Bloody hell, I can't imagine who else would be helping that git!" exclaimed Ron, his ears tipped red; they clashed with his hair.

Pansy looked up at Harry. "Professor Snape hasn't indicated that he is suspicious of anyone besides Quirrell, has he, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "Not that it would have really been his place to, even if we did find out that Quirrell was obviously up to no good."

"There's still Fluffy," Hermione said doubtfully. "How is he going to get past that beast?"

"Maybe he found a way without asking Hagrid; though Merlin knows Hagrid would let it slip without meaning to," Draco mused.

"Maybe there's a book somewhere in here, telling you how to get past Cerebus?" asked Neville.

Blaise quirked an eyebrow, a look reminiscent of his Head of House, at Neville; the expression on Blaise's face, however, did not appear to frighten the other boy as it did when Snape was leering at him in class. "What? I happen to enjoy mythology," replied Neville indignantly.

Blaise smiled and patted his friend's hand, leaning forward to whisper something in his ear that made Neville's cheeks turn pink.

Ron, oblivious as always, asked, "So, what shall we do, Harry?"

The light of adventure was kindling again in Ron's eyes, but Hermione answered before Harry could.

"Go to Dumbledore. That is what we should have done ages ago. If we try anything ourselves we'll be thrown out for sure."

"But we've got no _proof_!" said Harry, vehemently. "Quirrell's certainly not going to tell us who his cohort is; he covered up pretty well about the Halloween troll as near as I can tell. Whom do you think they will believe? It isn't exactly a secret that we hate him."

Hermione looked convinced but Ron did not.

"If we just poked around a little –"

"No," said Harry, flatly, "we've poked around enough and you know where it got us." He pulled a map of Saturn toward him and started studying its moons.

-----

----

---

--

-

The following morning, notes were delivered to Harry, Blaise, Millicent and Neville. They were all the same.

_Your detention will be served tonight at eleven o'clock. Meet Mr. Filch in the Entrance Hall._

_Professor McGonagall_

At ten minutes to eleven, the three friends headed towards the Entrance Hall from the Library. They met up with Bulstrode who looked quite put out at the whole thing; evidently, she had been trying to talk her way out of her detention but neither Snape nor McGonagall would have none of it. Thanks to her, McGonagall had docked another ten points from their house.

'_Good job, idiot,'_ thought Harry sourly.

"Follow me," said Filch, an old battered lamp held in one hand. He seemed even more pleased than usual, which did nothing to allay Neville's anxiety. They discovered just why he was so pleased when he led them outside towards the Forbidden Forest; surely, nothing good would come of this.

Blaise, Harry, and Neville's spirits rose slightly when they realized they were veering away from the Forest and closer to Hagrid's cottage. Bulstrode simply frowned further; she regarded the sweet caretaker as a stupid, bumbling oaf that should be treated as even less than house elves.

Harry realized Filch was talking to them.

"I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, 'eh? Oh, yes – hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me . . . It is surely a pity that they let the old punishments die out . . . hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days . . . or weeks. I've got a few chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled just in case the Headmaster ever lets me use them. Right, here we are, and don't think of running off, it will be worse for you if do." He leered at them, showing crooked teeth, yellowed by age and Merlin only knows what else.

The moon was bright but clouds flitting across kept throwing them into inky blackness. As they drew closer to the Gamekeeper's hut, they heard a loud shout.

"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

Neville's sniffling paused; if they were going to be working with Hagrid, it would not be so bad. His relief must have showed in his face because Filch said, "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with the oaf?" Bulstrode smirked. "Well, think again, it's into the Forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

"Yeh've been lecturin' them, eh Filch? S'not your place. No wonder yeh were late with 'em." He gestured towards the foursome. "C'mon w'me, this will take awhile and we don't 'ave a lot of time."

Filch merely smirked in that loathsome way of his and schlepped back towards the castle.

"The forest?" squeaked Bulstrode, not sounding quite as frosty as usual. "But aren't there we-werewolves in there?"

"Yeh should 'ave thought of that before you disobeyed, Bulstrode," Hagrid said roughly, giving a wink to the other three. Perhaps he was aware of who had gotten in trouble and why and took over the detention because he would be fairer than someone else who would believe they had simply been sneaking about at night. Or, at least, they could hope he would be fairer – with the three of them at least; no sense wasting fairness on that chit Bulstrode.

"What are we going to be doing?" ventured Harry nervously.

Hagrid smiled at the young boy, but his eyes were sad. "Somethin's been killin' unicorns, Harry. We need to find out jus' what exactly."

Blaise gulped. "But what would – or could – be doing that, Hagrid? Wouldn't you have to be powerfully strong to kill a unicorn?"

Hagrid nodded sagely. "We'll be splittin' up into two groups. Neville and Millicent will come wi' me and you and Blaise and Fang can go the other way. Can yeh shoot up red warning sparks with yeh wands?"

The students nodded.

"Good. Yeh'll need to do that if you run into trouble and I'll come after yeh."

He directed Harry and Blaise down one path and set off with Neville and a rather querulous Bulstrode.

-----

----

---

--

-

The darkened forest pushed the two boys closer together. Blaise held the lantern as he was taller and it cast a small but warming glow about them. Each boy wrapped their cloak around them – as much for warmth as for protection. The forest was eerily silent as if the creatures there knew that there something amongst them that was not natural.

As they rounded one bend, Blaise caught movement out of the corner of his eye and put up a hand to stop Harry. They watched in horror as some caped creature leaned over a fallen beast. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and yet so sad. The unicorn had been a sublime, a radiant animal. Now it lay on the cold ground, legs out-stretched as if still in flight, mane and tail splayed out like silvery fingers Harry and Blaise stifled gasps as they saw the creature that had obviously taken the animal down, lean forward over it, and, begin to drink the unicorn's silvery blood in the manner of a vampire.

The boys started to back carefully away from the scene so that they could alert Hagrid when one of them stepped upon a twig. The small _crack_ echoed loudly through the hushed woods, and the . . . thing looked up at them, face obscured, pointed fangs dripping silver.

They could not help but scream. As the creature eyed them, Harry felt his scar begin to burn with unimaginable pain. He dropped unceremoniously to the ground, hands on his forehead, writing in the dirt. Blaise dropped the lantern in his concern for Harry, casting them into unfathomable darkness.

The darkness brought panic. Blaise's heart raced in his chest, as he felt around for his small friend, ready to scoop him up and race back from whence they had come when the sound of hooves brought him to a stand still.

"Your wand," gasped Harry, pain breaking his voice, "use it for light!"

Blaise felt like smacking himself for his stupidity. He whipped out his wand instantly, casting _Lumos!_ A soft orb of light surrounded them, and to their horror, they saw the dark creature had slid closer to them while they had been blinded. Something outside of the light from Blaise's wand had caused it to cease all movement, however, and Blaise looked up from where he was kneeling at Harry's side to see a centaur moving swiftly towards them.

The great beast stood, front hooves pawing the ground in rage, before he reared up and stamped in violent downwards arc towards the dark creature. It was gone in a flurry of skittered motion, and shortly after it was out of sight, Harry was able to sit up, drenched in sweat from his fit of agony.

Blaise helped him to his feet while the centaur examined the fallen unicorn. Without turning, he murmured, "You must leave the Forest, young Potter. It is not a safe place for you."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Hagrid brought us out here on detention . . . sir. Wouldn't it be dangerous for all of us, anyhow, with that thing roaming about?"

The centaur turned. "Yes," he answered, "but particularly dangerous for young Harry. Do you know, Harry, what unicorn blood is used for?"

Harry shook his head. "We only use the hair and horn in Potions."

"That is because it is a monstrous thing to slay a unicorn," the centaur said in a grave voice. "They are truly pure creatures. Drinking a unicorn's blood will give you life, even if you are near death, but it will be a half life, a tortured life, for you have slain something innocent and used it for yourself."

"But who would want such a life? It seems death would be better," countered Blaise.

"Can you think of no one? No one at all to whom any life would be better than no life? Do you know what is hidden in Hogwarts at this very moment?"

"The Philosopher's Stone," murmured Harry.

"Do you know of no one who would risk the pained life from consuming the blood of an innocent if they had their sight on something that would be much more restorative?"

Harry inhaled deeply. "Do you mean that creature was Voldemort?"

Before the centaur could answer, the sound of hooves was heard again in the distance. "You two must leave this Forest now. Sit on my back and I will take you back to where it is safe."

Both boys climbed upon his broad back, feeling rather awkward. The centaur began a smooth, long-striding gait when two other centaurs came across their path.

"Firenze!" bellowed a dark haired centaur, "How dare you let yourself be used as a common horse! Siding with man!"

Firenze rose instantly into the air on his back feet, forcing the boys to grab hold tightly. "Do you know who this is? Do you know what is in our forest tonight? Harry Potter must be kept safe! You know what the constellations foretell, and yes, if it means siding with man than I shall do just that."

Firenze leapt forward suddenly, nearly knocking the boys together in a painful manner, and raced down the path back towards where Hagrid apparently was.

The centaur dropped them off gently, and leveled Hagrid with a stare. "Do not bring the students back, Hagrid, it is not safe for them, particularly for Mr. Potter. They came in close contact with what has been killing the unicorns, and it very nearly did in young Potter himself."

"Do yeh know what is here, then, Firenze?" asked Hagrid, shifting back and forth on his feet while Fang cowered behind him.

Firenze looked at each student, looked towards the sky, and said, "Mars is bright tonight."

"Yes," replied Hagrid, "I suppose it is, but do yeh know anything about what is goin' on?"

"Mars is bright tonight. Too bright, perhaps," said the centaur, before he turned and trotted back towards his companions.

Hagrid shook his head. "Ne'er and ne'er try to get anything useful from a centaur. Great beats, very noble, full o' honour, but heads in the clouds they are."

Harry was not sure what side of things Bulstrode fell on, although he could make a fair guess, and thus did not offer up any insight into the discussion he and Blaise had had with Firenze.

Hagrid pulled a large pocket watch from his vest and shook his head.

"I best be gettin' yeh back up to Hogwarts if yeh're goin' to have any sleep a'tall tonight. Mind yeh don't be getting' yerselves in trouble anytime soon."

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Upon returning to their common room, Bulstrode gave them quite a disgusted look and hurried off to the girl's dorms. Blaise and Harry found Draco half-asleep on one of the divans and they gently shook him awake.

Blaise recounted their story with Harry providing further detail to what happened when he collapsed and just how awful the pain was.

Draco put a hand to his friend's face in a tender gesture of concern. "Do you want me to fetch a pain potion from Professor Snape?"

Harry shook his head. "I think I'll be fine now. The pain has receded a lot. But we need to be very careful and we need to tell Pansy, Neville, Ron and Hermione just what happened out there. I'm pretty sure that was Voldemort in the forest."

Draco winced at the dark wizard's name spoken so openly. That . . . man had cause horrific damage to Harry's family, to his life, yet he had not grown up knowing his name and thus did not fear to speak it.

"We should tell Professor Snape, too, about what happened."

Blaise nodded. "You're right, Draco. He definitely needs to know. I would not be too worried as long as you stay within Hogwarts' grounds though, Harry. My Father always said that the only person the Dark . . ." he glanced at Harry and forced the wizard's name between his lips . . . "_Vol – Voldemort _ever truly feared was Professor Dumbledore. As long as he is here you should be safe as houses."

Harry wore a grim expression but nodded at Blaise. "Tomorrow then, we will fill those who need to be in the know, in on what happened. For now we better get to bed."

Harry slowly got ready for slumber, stiff from the scare he had suffered in the Forbidden Forest, and did not notice what lay on his quilt until he climbed into bed.

His Invisibility Cloak with a note attached.

_Just in case._


	21. Chapter Twentyone

**Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two**

**by MysticSong1978**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot _switch_ and any original characters I may add into the mix as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.**

_Dialogue_ is in double quotes ("") and _Thoughts_ are in single quotes ('').

_Author's Note_

_Please join my group: visit us at the following URL (take the spaces out to make it a valid link!) Keep up with story updates, new story ideas, story art, et cetera. You can find artwork on my website, Slytherin Selection, which is linked in my profile._

_http/ groups . yahoo . com / group / Severus-ItsWhatsForDinner_

_This is the final chapter for HPPS: Take Two. I hope you all have enjoyed this story. _

_I will be following with Harry Potter & the Chamber of Secrets: Take Two, but I have no promises for when the first chapter will be available. I've recently enrolled in a local college for a programming degree (BA wasn't enough!) so I am going to be fairly busy. Am also going on a Harry Potter tour this summer so . . . I do, however, promise that I will not drop off the face of the earth and make you wait a year! **Joining the group gets you chapter teasers too.**_

_**Note:**A math error was corrected on 18June 2005thanks to myfriend Tony. Noother changes have been made.To Joe the Anonymous: Just because you did not see a House gain or lose points does not mean that it did not happen; if that were the case, neither Hufflepuff nor Ravenclaw would have any points at all._

**_Accio reviews!_**

_Love, MysticSong1978_

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In the years that would follow, Harry would wonder how he had managed to get through his first-year exams with the worry that Voldemort was about to bust into Hogwarts and carry him off. Or kill him. Or just leave him in brutalizing pain. Or all three. It was also swelteringly hot and sometimes even the strongest cooling charms did little to deflect the waves of heat.

"At least your common room is underground," whinged Ron. "The Tower is bloody awful this time of year!"

Harry's Slytherin housemates were a little more understanding than the Gryffindors were about Harry's fear of Voldemort, but even the thought of Voldemort crashing the party, so to speak, was not enough to dislodge their fear of not passing first year exams; as Hermione had pointed out, without them, they wouldn't be entering second year. Even the children of Death Eaters could not fully appreciate the magnitude of fear that Harry was harbouring; they had grown up _after_ the fall of the Dark Lord.

Their exams were completed with specially provided quills that had been enchanted with an anti-cheating charm. They took written as well as practical exams. In Charms, they had to make a mango tap-dance across a table. In Transfiguration, they had to change mouse into a cigar box. Points were added for how pretty the box was, but taken away if it retained a tail or whiskers. Snape made everyone nervous in the Practical Potions Probe, even his own house, hovering over their shoulders, as they tried to remember how to make a forgetfulness potion.

Their last exam was History of Magic, for which there was simply a written. Hermione and Pansy gloated to each other after it was over for both Houses on how easy it had been and how they did not have to know all about Elfric the Eager or the Goblin Uprising of 394. They actually wanted to go over the exam papers, but Ron said it made him ill, so the group wandered out towards the lake to relax.

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Harry was rubbing his scar, staring out across the deceptively calm surface of the lake. "I wish I knew what this _means_," Harry said to his friends at large.

Pansy looked up briefly from a book Hermione had in her lap. "Go to Madam Pomfrey," she suggested.

"No," Harry shook his head, "I don't think I'm sick. It's more like a warning that something is coming."

"Did you ever talk to Professor Snape," Draco asked.

Blaise nodded. "The next morning after breakfast. We learned from Bulstrode's fine example never to intercept the Professor on his way to strong coffee!"

Draco chortled at this.

"But he couldn't help us. He said he would take it up with the Headmaster, and that he was keeping an eye on Quirrell. That, and as long as Dumbledore is around, we shouldn't have anything to worry about."

"Plus," Neville added, "Hagrid would quit before he'd be unfaithful to Dumbledore."

"Purposely unfaithful, that is!" Harry jumped up. "That's what has been bothering me! Isn't it rather convenient that a stranger showed up with a dragon egg – something Hagrid has always wanted more than anything else in the world – and is willing to risk it in a game of cards?"

Hermione and Pansy looked at each other, dawning horror evident in both their eyes as they realized what Harry meant.

"We have _got_ to go talk with Hagrid right now!" Harry sped off towards the Gamekeeper's hut, Hermione and Pansy hot on his heels, the rest following gamely, if a bit perplexed, behind them.

Harry rapped forcefully on the door, causing Fang to bark noisily from inside in return. "Back Fang, Back! Down Boy!" came Hagrid's gruff voice.

He pulled the door open cautiously, struggling to keep his slobbery boarhound at his heels. His face lit upon seeing Harry. "Harry! Come on in! Ah, yeh have the lot with yeh! Come on in. 'ow were yeh exams?"

Hermione and Pansy beamed and began telling Hagrid all about the exams and where they thought they had erred until Harry sighed and motioned to Hermione to stop.

"Hagrid," said Harry, "when you won the dragon egg in Knockturn Alley . . . did you see your opponent in the game at all?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Nah, but that 'snot that unusual in such a shady place as the Hog's Head Tavern, Harry. Lots o' folks don't want anyone to know who they or, more often, what they look like. Lots o' hags down there, yeh know?" This last bit said in a whisper; or at least, as much of a whisper as Hagrid was capable.

"What did you talk to him about," asked Neville, "did he mention Hogwarts at all?"

Hagrid closed his eyes in thought. "He might've at that, wanted to know if I had any experience in dealing with temperamental animals. Told 'im after dealing w'Fluffy a lil' dragon would be a cinch!"

Very cautiously, Draco asked, "Was he curious about Fluffy?"

"O'course!" Hagrid cried, "Tol' 'im, 'how many three-headed dogs do yeh run 'cross?'" Hagrid nodded. "Tol' 'im yeh just got to know how to soothe a beast. Bit o' music and Fluffy nods right off –"

Hagrid stopped abruptly, looking horrified.

"Shouldn't a tol' yeh that!"

"Hagrid," Hermione said gently, "did you tell the person with the dragon egg how to deal with Fluffy?"

Hagrid just continued to stare at them. Harry took one look at the Gamekeeper's distraught face, looked at his friends, pointed out the door, and ran out abruptly.

"We'll see you later, Hagrid," Blaise called over his shoulder.

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The seven friends raced into the Entrance Hall, which seemed rather gloomy after the bright sunshine. "We've got to tell Dumbledore," Harry said between gasps for air, "Hagrid pretty much insinuated that he told that person how to get past Fluffy. It was probably Quirrell!"

Pansy nodded. "You're right. Neville was too. Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore on purpose, but he talks about things he shouldn't to people he barely knows. He didn't do this to hurt anyone; he is simply too trusting."

With heavy hearts, they headed towards the entrance to the Headmaster's Office, where they ran into Professor McGonagall, her arms full of books.

"What are you seven doing inside on a day like this? Your exams are finished; you should be outside enjoying the weather."

"We have to see Professor Dumbledore, Ma'am," explained Harry earnestly.

The Deputy Headmistress looked over her glasses at Harry. She couldn't help but like the boy; she always had, but she would be lying to herself if she said his Slytherin side didn't unnerve her a bit. She felt, perhaps, that it was showing through now.

"Mr. Potter, there couldn't possibly be anything urgent enough that you had to see the Headmaster about."

Harry stepped closer to the woman and dropped his voice to a whisper. "It's about the Philosopher's Stone."

Whatever she was expecting him to say, it was not that, and, to Hermione's dismay, Professor McGonagall unceremoniously dropped her armload of books onto the hard Stone floor.

"Mr. Potter, I have no earthly idea how knowledge of that particular item came to you, but I assure you it is perfectly safe."

"I assure you it isn't," Draco said. Hermione nodded in agreement.

Professor McGonagall sighed. "The Stone is well protected by several professors here."

"We must see the Headmaster, please," breathed Harry, rather desperately.

"Mr. Potter! The Headmaster cannot see you; he was called away to London rather urgently this morning." She stooped down to pickup her books. "Now, please go back outside. If I see you lot inside before the next meal, I will be forced to deduct points. Yes, even from my own House, Miss Granger. Now, shoo!"

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The group trudged back outside and sat morosely on the steps to Hogwarts. "It's going to be tonight," Harry said firmly. "I know it is. Quirrell found out a way to get past Fluffy and he will go after the Stone for Voldemort this evening."

Draco nodded. "I bet that urgent message from London was a fake."

A shadow fell over them. Harry looked up to see the stern face of his Head of House.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.

"Good afternoon, sir," the group chorused softly.

Snape quirked an eyebrow at the sullen teens. "Your exams are completed and it is a lovely day out. What on earth is wrong with the lot of you? The rest of your classmates are celebrating . . . although I dare say some may be celebrating the end of their first year at Hogwarts a bit prematurely," he concluded, a bit of his usual sarcastic vein staunchly in place.

Not one of the Gryffindors jumped to his bait. Professor Snape sighed and sat down next to Harry.

"Now," he said, "tell me what is going on." His words were clipped and precise.

Harry looked at his friends. They leaned in towards Snape so that no one would over hear them.

"Oh, for Merlin's . . ." Professor Snape, although willing to do his duty when members of his house were involved in a group of disturbed students, he was not willing to have this many of them clustered around as if he were a mother hen. He pulled out his wand and cast a quick silencing spell around the group. He leaned back slightly from the lot of them.

"From the beginning, or at least, as close as is necessary."

"Sir," began Harry, "we are as sure as we can be that Hagrid accidentally let it slip to a cloaked stranger in Knockturn Alley how to control Fluffy. He told us under minimal prodding and then was horrified. But he would have been so wrapped up in what he was involved with that night that we don't think he would have realized he had slipped up."

"We know he would never intentionally betray Hogwarts, sir," continued Pansy, "but you know he can be very trusting, often of the wrong sort of people."

Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

"Have you told the Headmaster?"

"We tried, to, sir," said Neville, a bit nervously, "but Professor McGonagall told us he had been called away by an urgent message to London. And then she shooed us outside with the threat of docking points from all of us if she caught us inside again."

"And I think the message was faked," finished Draco. "You know that is easy enough to do."

The Potions Master ran a tired hand through his hair.

"Harry, did you tell Professor McGonagall _why_ you wanted to talk to the Headmaster?"

"Yes, sir, and she was so shocked she dropped her armful of books and told us the Stone was well protected by the professors here . . . but"

"But somehow you had already found out that Quirrell was one of those protecting the Stone and deemed the Stone therefore unsafe?" asked Snape.

Hermione and Pansy nodded.

Snape sighed again.

"Let me talk to Professor McGonagall about it. I will talk to Quirrell as well. You lot need to be very careful. Especially you Harry; if what you told me about what you saw in the Forest is accurate, you could be in grave danger. Do not let your Gryffindor bravery let you rush into situations that could get you hurt or killed, or, well, expelled."

Harry looked up in alarm.

"I have no plans to expel you, Mr. Potter, but I cannot control the actions that others may take. Good day."

Snape flicked his wand, ending the silencing spell, and in one smooth motion, stood and strolled back inside the castle.

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Harry sighed and dropped his head into his hands. Hermione patted his back gently. "It will be alright, Harry."

He shook his head. "No, it shan't," he mumbled through his fingers. "If Voldemort gets the Stone and makes the Elixir of Life, he will be unbeatable. That monster killed my parents and scores of other people. He committed unspeakable tragedies against Muggles and Wizards alike. We know what is going down and we _have_ to do something about it!"

Neville nodded. "I'm with Harry. Vol – Voldemort essentially took my parents from me as well. I don't ever want that to happen to another person," he said fervently.

Draco met Harry's intense gaze. "Well then, what do you propose that we do about it?"

"I am going after the Stone myself."

"But, but Harry!" exclaimed Blaise, "You heard what Professor Snape said! You can't risk getting expelled!"

Pansy smacked Blaise lightly on his back. "Really Blaise! Are you taking the Mickey? Hogwarts would never ever expel Harry Potter! Snape just said that to try to get us to follow the rules and stay safe!"

Hermione nodded. "Besides, we're all in this together. _We_ will go after the Stone tonight."

Harry jerked upright in surprise. "Hermione! I can't let you do that! They might not expel _me_ for whatever stupidly special reasons they have, but I can't have you risk _your_ education!"

"No one is expelling Hermione," Ron said smugly.

"What do you mean?"

Hermione blushed. "Professor Flitwick told me in private that I made 112 on his exam. They're not throwing me out after that."

Grins broke out around the circle. "Way to go, Hermione!" exclaimed Draco. "Though, I'm sure I will get the brunt end of my Father's wrath on how a – excuse me, Hermione, – _Mudblood_ bested me on my exams. I suppose I shall act the part of the woebegone Slytherin victim. _Woe is me! A Gryffindor mudblood girl is smarter than I!_"

Hermione giggled nervously at his antics. "Will your Father hurt you?"

Draco shook his head. "At least, I don't think he will. I will try to get an owl out in a roundabout manner to let everyone know what comes of it. In the meantime, we have more important things to concern ourselves with."

"So it is settled then?" inquired Harry.

The six friends seated in front of him eyed each other and then nodded affirmatively.

"No one is going to back out, right?" asked Hermione, looking at each person carefully.

"We could swear a Wizard's Oath," offered Ron hesitantly.

Draco quirked a brow. "It actually isn't a bad idea. The thing that we are planning to do is rather serious. I would like to trust that none of us would back out at the last second due to nerves or whatnot, but I agree with Ronald."

"Does everyone know what to do?" Pansy asked.

Harry shook his head, a bit embarrassed, especially since Hermione already knew and she was Muggleborn.

Neville patted Harry's hand. "You wouldn't have any reason to know about Wizard Oath's. Hermione only knows because she's try to read the entire library before we graduate!"

Draco smiled. "Everyone hold out your wand, swear that you will not back out of the plan to save the Philosopher's Stone and then let all the wand tips touch each other at once. That will seal the oath."

After a momentary hesitation, the seven friends committed themselves in a glow of white light.

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That evening after their meal, the seven friends casually strolled in groups of two up to the forbidden corridor. Harry and Draco came last wearing Harry's beloved Invisibility Cloak. With heavy hearts, they watched as Hermione cast _Alohamora_ on the door. It swung silently open to reveal . . . silence. They stood frozen by the door and as their breathing calmed, they heard strains of music coming from an enchanted harp and the soft snores of a very, very, very large dog. _'One very for each head,'_ mused Blaise.

Ron moved towards the trap door that was propped open in front of the dog's paws and pulled it fully open. He looked through the hole. "There seems to be some sort of plant down there, so I don't think the landing will hurt much," he whispered.

One by one, each of the seven jumped through the hole, leaving the slumbering dog behind them. Once through, however, they discovered that the soft plant was actually a trap in disguise. Strong vines began curling around their bodies, holding them fast in place. They struggled to no avail. Pansy paused in exhaustion and discovered that when completely calm, the plant let go, allowing her to slip through its clutches, dropping her in the straw below.

"Guys!" she called out, "You have got to relax and it will let you go!" Eventually they were all standing beside her except for Ron who was unable to relax in the death grip of the plant. With each movement he made, the vines clenched harder.

"Do you recognize the plant, Hermione?" Harry asked in alarm.

She shook her head.

"I know what it is," exclaimed Neville suddenly, "It's Devil's Snare! Professor Sprout told me all about it. It hates the sunlight!"

Without a second thought, Blaise whipped out his wand and cast a beam of light into the midst of the plant. It instantly shriveled up into itself and dropped Ron unceremoniously on top of Draco with a soft _oomph_!

"Ronald, you really need to stop eating so much," Draco announced once he had his breath back.

Ron frowned at him. Draco smirked back good-naturedly.

The next door brought them the sounds of small objects or animals whooshing through the air. Harry cracked the door and peaked in. Nothing accosted him so he stepped through.

"Are they birds?" asked Neville.

Hermione shook her head. "No, they're . . . they're keys!"

Harry scanned the room until he spotted a large door with an ancient brass lock. "We need the key that fits that lock," said Harry, pointing at the door.

"How in the world are we going to –?"

Draco's thought cut off suddenly when he spotted an old Quidditch broom in the corner of the room nearest the door.

"Harry! You'll have to fly for it."

Harry nodded and moved over towards the broom. He looked up at the brass key that Pansy had spotted; it had a broken wing from the earlier capture Quirrell had somehow made of it. Taking a deep breath, he mounted the broom.

The moment his body made full contact with the broomstick, the flight of the keys became frenzied; they flung themselves at Harry like tiny missiles. As soon as Harry acclimated himself to the old broom, his Seeker skills kicked in and he soared upwards to snag the broken-winged key. Flying low, he flung the key into Draco's hand, and flew upwards again, leading the flock of keys away from his friends. Draco made haste to the door and with a quick twist of brass against brass, flung the door open. As soon as the six kids on the ground had made it into the next room, Harry raced through, still on the broom. Blaise and Ron shoved the door shut behind him. Harry panted in exhaustion as the remaining keys thudded into the door, impaling themselves like a Ninja's throwing stars.

A large chess set stood before them in the next room.

"Wicked!" exclaimed Ron. "Life-size Wizard's Chess!"

Ron swiveled to face his friends. "I already know about Harry and Hermione's skill in this game . . . or, lack there of," he said, winking at his friends. "How skilled are the rest of you in Wizards Chess?"

"I would say that I am a relatively decent player, Ronald," answered Draco after a momentary pause. "But chess is one of the areas that I am actually not that competitive in."

"Would you be willing to take my direction?"

Draco nodded solemnly.

Ron studied the board. "I'm going to need one more player. There are three empty spots. I'm taking one of them or the game shan't accept my commands."

Blaise stepped forward. "I'll do it."

Ron nodded. "I'm going to be a knight. Draco, you're a bishop, and Blaise, you'll be a castle."

The three boys took their spots.

"White always plays first," muttered Ron. "Yes, see –" he pointed at the other side where a white pawn had moved forward two squares.

Ron began to direct the black pieces on their side. They moved silently wherever he sent them. Draco's knees were trembling. _'What if we lose?'_ he mused.

"Draco," Ron called, startling him out of his discomfort, "move diagonally four squares to the right."

The friends' first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board; where he lay quite still, face down.

"Had to let that happen," said Ron, looking shaken. "Leaves you free to take that bishop, Blaise, go on."

Gingerly, Blaise moved forward, cheered when white lost one of their men, but in light of the queen's destruction of one of their pieces, the thrill of live chess had quite diminished.

Every time one of their own was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a cluster of limp black players slumped along the far wall. Twice, Ron only just noticed in time that Blaise and Draco were in danger. He himself darted around the board taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones.

"We're nearly there," he muttered suddenly. "Let me think . . ."

The white queen turned her blank face towards him.

"Yes," said Ron softly, "it's the only way . . . I've got to be taken."

Draco was quick to realize what he meant. "NO!" he cried, "Ronald, you cannot do that! You've seen what happens to the captured pieces!"

"That's chess!" snapped Ron. "You've got to make sacrifices to win! I take one-step forward and she'll take me. That leaves you free to checkmate the king, Draco!"

"But –"

"Do you want to stop Quirrell or not?" retorted Ron.

Draco sighed resignedly.

"Ready?" Ron called; his face pale but resolute. "Here I go – don't hang around once you've won."

He stepped forward and the white queen pounced. There was no other word for her movement, like a large feral cat. She struck Ron hard around the head with her stone arm and he crashed to the floor hard. He looked as if he had been knocked out.

Shaking, Draco moved three spaces to the left.

The white king took off his crown and threw it at Draco's feet. They had won; but at what price?

The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With one last desperate look at Ron, the group charged ahead through the door and up the next passageway.

"What if he's . . ." Draco couldn't complete the sentence.

"He'll . . . he'll be alright," voiced Harry, not wanting to consider any alternatives. "What do you reckon's next?"

"We've had Sprout's, Flitwick must have charmed the keys, McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to bring them to life . . . that leaves Snape . . . and Quirrell," Pansy finished darkly.

Blaise pointed out a door at the end of the room and the group carefully pulled it open and poked their heads through.

They smelled the troll before they saw it lying heaped on the floor, glad that Quirrell had already taken this task out of harm's way. Draco, Ron, and Harry knew their first encounter with the troll was just, as McGonagall had put it, "sheer, dumb luck!" and were in no mood to tackle another any time soon.

This brought them to the next door.

Harry tentatively pushed it open.

It was moderately lit and starkly decorated. In fact, the only thing to see was a long oak table with seven vials, each holding a potion. As soon as they had stepped over the threshold, magic fire sprung up blocking the entrance and exit from the room.

Hermione and Pansy, easily the two best Potions students of the seven of them, cautiously approached the table to investigate. The boys peered over their shoulders. In front of the bottles lay a single piece of parchment.

Pansy picked it up, noting that it was most definitely written by her Head of House. "It's a poem, of sorts," she muttered to Hermione. "Who would have thought Professor Snape was capable of writing poetry?"

"I thought his first-year speech was rather indicative of that," Hermione countered, a small smirk in place.

"True. Well, what do you make of it?"

_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind, _

_Two of us will help you, whichever you would find, _

_One among us seven will let you move ahead, _

_Another will transport the drinker back instead, _

_Two among our number hold only nettle wine, _

_Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line. _

_Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore, _

_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four: _

_First, however slyly the poison tries to hide _

_You will always find some on nettle wine's left side; _

_Second, different are those who stand at either end, _

_But if you would move onward, neither is your friend; _

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different size, _

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides; _

_Fourth, the second left and the second on the right _

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

Hermione read over the words several times until she was sure she understood. "It's a logic puzzle," Hermione exclaimed! "Professor Snape was very smart to employ such protection; most wizards do not spend a lot of time reasoning out puzzles like this and they would not be able to decipher it."

"Aren't we in a bit of a bind, then," asked Neville.

Pansy flashed him a look that was half-smile, half-smirk. "Not with Hermione, here, Neville. Did you forget she is Muggleborn?"

Neville blushed. "Oh, right, so you can solve it?"

Hermione nodded. She pulled her wand out of her pocket, swiped a broom twig off Harry's robe, transfigured it into a quill, and went to work.

"The poem tells us that only one bottle will move us ahead, and likewise, only one will move us backward. I will label those "F" and "B". Likewise, two vials hold nettle wine . . . so that will be two "W's". There are three bottles of poison which we will call "P" and poison is always to the left of wine."

Hermione studied the bottles. "That means the first bottle can't be poison; there isn't anything to the left of it. They cannot be together either as that would leave at least one without a bottle of wine to stand next to. Two could be together but only if wine is immediately to the right. If bottle one cannot be poison, bottle two cannot be wine. The first and last cannot be the same; neither can be "F". The biggest and smallest bottles are not poison. Two and six is the same potion – the twins. Two and six cannot be "F" since there is only one "F"; likewise neither two nor six can be "B"."

Hermione's brow furrowed as she worked out the details. The other six were silent, not wanting to disturb her when an error could bring death.

She studied her notes, re-read the poem, examined each bottle, and finally announced, "The smallest bottle will move us forward, through that black fire through the door to the last room."

"Are you sure," asked Harry.

Hermione nodded, "Yes, Harry, I'm sure." She held the bottle out towards him.

"But there's only enough for one of us . . ."

"Well, it better be you then, mate," said Blaise, patting him on the back, "You've got the best shot of all of us of taking on whatever is through that door."

"You . . . are you . . . erm, sure?"

Draco nodded.

"I've got faith in you, Harry!" added Neville.

Harry sighed and accepted the smallest vial from Hermione. "Bottoms up," he said cheerlessly as he tipped the vial back to drink whatever may be inside.

It was like drinking liquid ice; Harry felt as if his insides were frozen. He shuddered violently. "One of you needs to go back and owl Dumbledore," Harry instructed his friends.

"I'll go," said Draco. Hermione handed him the other potion; again, just enough for one. Draco tipped it back and shuddered as well. "I'll have to ask Professor Snape what in the world we just drank," he muttered, shivering violently. He gave Harry a quick, if slightly unexpected, embrace. "Be careful, you hear me?"

Harry nodded. "You, too."

The boys looked at their friends and parted, Harry going forward through the black flames, Draco backwards through the purple.

Harry saw the flames licking his body but did not feel their heat.

Before he knew it, he was standing in the next room.

Although Harry made no noise stepping into the room, Quirrell whipped around and, with a wave of his hand, slammed the door shut. With a second movement, ropes appeared out of thin air and bound Harry.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school at all hours; Hallowe'en, for example. Now, wait quietly; I need to examine this interesting mirror."

Harry quickly realized it was the Mirror of Erised. _'Dumbledore had nothing to worry about by hiding it down here. I never would run across it again were it not for Quirrell.'_

"The mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this . . . but he's in London . . . I'll be far, far away by the time he gets back . . ."

Harry continued to struggle fruitlessly against the ties that bind.

"I see the St-stone . . . I am presenting it to my master . . . but where is it?"

"Hagrid told me you didn't used to be so nervous," Harry suddenly interjected.

Quirrell gave him an appraising look. 'Sometimes," he said, "I find it had to follow my master . . . he is a great wizard and I am weak . . ."

"He was giving you instructions _here_ at _Hogwarts_!" Harry asked incredulously, fear touching the edges of his voice.

'He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I travelled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil; only power and those too weak to seek it. Sin—"

"Power corrupts," Harry said, his voice full of disdain.

"You would think that, you foolish little boy. You are nothing but a pawn for Dumbledore. My master is hard on me," he continued as if there had been no interruption. "When I failed to steal the stone from Gringotts," Quirrell shivered suddenly.

Harry abruptly remembered his trip with Professor Snape to Diagon Alley where he had met Quirrell . . . and how much his scar had hurt when he had been shoved perilously close to the man. _'If only I had known then what was going on! If only I had known that my scar hurting was an indication of evil nearby!'_

Quirrell cursed. "I don't understand, is the Stone _inside_ the Mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry's mind was racing. _'What I want more than anything is to find the Stone before Quirrell does, so if I look in the Mirror, I should see myself finding it! But I must be extremely cautious,'_ he thought, Slytherin side kicking in.

He edged slowly to the left, painfully aware of the ropes around him, scrunching his feet so that he moved sideways like an inchworm to keep himself upright. He paused for a moment when his feet began to cramp.

Quirrell was still muttering when another voice, dark and raspy, filled the room.

"Use the boy . . . Use the boy . . ."

Quirrell rounded on Harry.

"Potter, come here." He clapped his hands and the ropes binding Harry fell off.

"Come here," the man repeated, "look in the Mirror and tell me what you see."

Harry slowly moved past Quirrell, powerfully aware of the noxious odor that seemed to ooze from the man's turban. He stepped in front of the Mirror and took a deep breath.

He saw his reflection, pale, scared. But a moment later, his image smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket – and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow, – incredibly – _he'd received the Stone_.

"Well?" asked Quirrell impatiently.

Harry screwed up his fleeting Gryffindor courage; strongly wanting to take the advice of his Slytherin tendencies to flee, even though there was no easy way out of this room.

"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," he lied smoothly, "I've won the House Cup for Slytherin."

Quirrell cursed again and shoved Harry aside.

Hoping Quirrell wouldn't notice, Harry began to edge towards the door when the dark voice came once again.

"He lies . . . he lies . . ."

Quirrell whipped around. "Potter, come back here! Tell me the truth, what did you see!"

The voice spoke again. "Let me speak to him . . . face to face . . ."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength . . . for this."

Harry felt as if the Devil's Snare had rooted him into place. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and unwrapped his turban. Quirrell's head looked peculiar and small without it. Then the man turned around.

Harry wanted to scream but was unable to. Where the back of the man's head should have been was a terrible face. It was gaunt, chalk white, glaring red eye, and slits for nostrils. It was like some horrible mixture of a snake and a dying man.

"Harry Potter . . ." it murmured. "See what I have become? What you have done to me? Barely clinging to life, only able to sustain what I have left due to Professor Quirrell's kindness towards me, his willingness to drink the Unicorn's blood until my body could be restored. How is it, Harry Potter, that you, a small infant, from your Mudblood mother, was able to do this to me?"

Harry suddenly regained feeling in his legs and he stumbled backwards, desperate to remove himself from this awful visage.

"Don't be silly boy, give me the Stone! You cannot escape your fate today. Or do you want to die for some foolish cause as your parents did? Begging me for mercy!"

"Liar!" cried Harry.

Quirrell was walking backwards at him so that Voldemort could still see him, a smile of pure evil pasted across his face.

"How _touching_," it hissed. "I always value bravery . . . Yes, boy, your parents were brave . . . I killed your father first and he put up a courageous fight, but your Mother needn't have died, at least not when she did, the filthy Mudblood . . . she died trying to protect _you_. Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have _died in vain!_"

"NEVER!"

Harry sprang towards the door, but Voldemort shrieked, "SIEZE HIM!" and Harry felt Quirrell's hand close over his wrist. At once, a needle-like pain laced through Harry's scar and he felt perhaps his head would split in two, like a stormy sky torn asunder by a bolt of lightning.

To his surprise, he realized that Quirrell had let him go despite Voldemort's cries to get him back. He saw the man huddled on the floor; his fingers that had touched Harry were blistering before his eyes.

When Voldemort's cries became harsher, Quirrell lunged again, knocking Harry off his feet, landing on top of him, both hands around his neck. Harry' scar putting him in blinding pain, yet he could see Quirrell howling in agony.

'_Serves you right, you bloody git!'_ thought Harry, massaging his neck where the man had tried to strangle him.

"Master, I cannot, I cannot," Quirrell was crying, "my hands burn so when I touch him, I cannot abide it."

Harry saw the man's hands appeared burnt, bright red and shiny.

"Then kill him, you fool!"

Quirrell raised his wand to perform the deadly curse, but Harry, instinctively, reached up and grabbed the man's face.

He screeched in anguish. Quirrell rolled off Harry, his face now blistering as well. Harry jumped to his feet, eager to place his hands on Quirrell now that he knew Quirrell couldn't touch him without suffering. Harry did not understand the reason behind it, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Harry grabbed the man's arm as tightly as he could. The man shrieked, Voldemort squealed, Harry's scar felt as if it would burst with the intensity . . . and then all Harry knew was blackness.

-----

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-

Something gold was glinting just above him, right out of his reach. The Snitch! Harry struggled to grab it, but his arms felt like lead and he was unable to move them. He blinked to clear his vision and the Snitch dissolved into a pair of glasses. The Headmaster's, to be precise.

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore.

Harry stared at him. Then he remembered, "Sir! The Stone! Quirrell has it, Sir, a qu—"

"Calm yourself, Harry, or Madam Pomfrey will likely have me thrown out of the Infirmary! You are a little behind the times, my dear boy." Dumbledore patted Harry's hand. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realised he must be in the hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the sweet-shop.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore beaming. "What happened between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a lavatory seat. No doubt, they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

Harry could not help but grin. Then his brow furrowed. "How long have I been here, sir? And is Ron okay?"

"Ron is fine; he had a bit of a headache, but was lucky to suffer no concussion. A mild pain draught set him right. You have been here three days. Your friends have been quite worried about you."

"And the Stone?"

"I see you will not be distracted from your intent. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."

"You got there? You got Draco's owl?"

"We must have crossed mid-air. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you, although at the time I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were. I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer."

"No the Stone, you – the effort nearly killed you, Harry. For one terrible moment, I was afraid it very well had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."

"Destroyed? But your friend Flamel . . ."

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" he sounded delighted. "You _did_ do this properly, didn't you? Nicolas and I have had a little chat and agreed it was all for the best."

"But won't he and his wife die?"

"No, Harry, they are immortal; eternal wizards. Someone, could, perhaps, kill them, but they will not die of old age. Not that they would mind, which I can see by your expression seems a terrible thing, but I believe to them it would be like going to sleep after a very long day. It seemed like a lark at the time; all the money and life one could wand . . . alas, humans have the knack for choosing those things that are worst for them."

Harry felt a bit lost for words.

"Sir," he finally said, "I've been thinking. Even if the Stone is Gone, Vol . . . I mean You-Know-Who—"

"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Fear of the name merely increases fear of the thing itself."

Harry nodded. "Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? He hasn't gone, has he?"

"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there, somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to host him . . . not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows his followers no more mercy than he shows his victims. Perhaps we will be lucky and he will be delayed time and again and never really return to power."

Harry nodded, but stopped when he realised it made his head hurt. "Sir, there are some other things I would like to know, if you can tell me . . . things I want to know the truth about."

Dumbledore sighed. "The truth is a beautiful but terrible thing and should be treated with great caution. I will answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case, I beg you will forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Voldemort told me that my parents died protecting me . . . Why did he want to kill me in the first place?"

"Alas, the very first thing you ask me is something I cannot tell you."

Harry sighed and realized that he had heard the faint rustle of movement at the Headmaster's words. He turned his head slightly to see the black robes of Head of House.

"Professor Snape?"

Dumbledore turned to look at his Potions Master. "Ah, yes, Professor Snape is under the belief that you should not be coddled and have all the truth told at once, but then he operates on the principle that you are all simply small adults with the capacity to handle what those far older than you are can."

Harry's respect for Snape edged up even further and he gave the man a small smile.

Although Severus' face remained impassive, Harry felt he had a moment of understanding with him. Perhaps Snape would be willing to share a little more detail with him later under the guise of being counseled.

Dumbledore, seeming to read Harry's thoughts, gave the boy a stern look. "This is not something you can know at this time," he repeated sternly.

Harry closed his eyes in resignation, but he did not answer. Snape smirked.

"Any other questions, my boy?"

Harry blinked at the Headmaster. "Why . . ." he paused to gather his thoughts. "Why was Quirrell unable to touch me?"

"That is far more simply, yet, at the same time, utterly complex and mysterious."

Harry glanced at Snape with a look that seemed to say, _'Does the Headmaster ever give a straight answer?'_

Snape quirked an eyebrow and inclined his head, although he chose not to elaborate with commentary.

When Harry returned his gaze to the Headmaster, Albus said, "Your Mother died to save you, Harry. You are protected by ancient blood magic and the gift of unconditional love."

Harry blushed slightly and fought to control the tears that seemed imminent.

Dumbledore continued, not looking at Harry so as not to embarrass him. "If there is one thing Voldemort does not understand, it is love. He did not realise that love as powerful as your Mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar," he said as Harry's hand touched the one that Voldemort had given him, "no visible sign . . . to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loves us is gone, will give us some protection for ever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

When Harry found his voice again, he said, "And the Invisibility Cloak do you know who sent it to me?"

"Your Father happened to leave it in my possession and I thought you might like it." His eyes twinkled. "Useful things . . . your Father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

Harry gave the Headmaster a half smile. "One more thing, sir. How did the Stone get into the Mirror? Or, rather, how did _I_ get the Stone?"

"Ah, now, I am glad you asked me that, my boy. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that is saying something."

Severus scoffed softly. Albus ignored him.

"You see, only someone who wanted to find – _find, but not use_**– **the Stone, would be ale to get it. Otherwise, they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking the Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes. Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them – but I think Ill be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"

Severus scoffed softly. Albus ignored him.

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "Alas! Earwax!"

Harry and Severus shuddered.

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-

Madam Pomfrey was a nice woman, very motherly. She was also very strict.

"Just five minutes," Harry pleaded.

"Absolutely not."

"You let Professors Dumbledore and Snape in . . ."

"Well, that was different. _You. Need. Rest."_

"I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey!"

"Oh, very well," she said resignedly, "but five minutes _only!_"

And she let in six very anxious students.

"Harry!"

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him. For that matter, so did Blaise and Draco. Harry was glad they didn't for his head was still very sore.

"Oh, Harry, we were so worried! We were sure you were going to . . . Dumbledore was so worried . . ."

"The whole school's talking about it," said Ron. "What _really_ happened?"

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumours. Harry told them everything: Quirrell, the Mirror; the Stone and Voldemort. They were a good audience; they gasped in all the right places, and, when Harry told them what was under Quirrell's turban, Hermione screamed out loud.

"So, the Stone's gone then," asked Ron finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"

"Flamel is _immortal_," Hermione said, in a fairly good impersonation of Snape talking to someone who had just asked a very stupid question. Or blown something up. Again.

Ron flushed. Harry was glad he wasn't the only stupid one regarding that matter.

"So what happened to everyone else?" asked Harry.

"Well, I got back alight," said Draco. "I bought Ronald around – that took awhile, he is quite lucky not to have a concussion – and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the Entrance Hall. He already knew – he just said, "Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?" and hurtled off to the third floor.

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" said Ron. "Sending you your Father's cloak and everything?"

"Well," Hermione exploded, "if he did – I mean to say – that's terrible – you could have been killed!"

"No, it isn't," Harry mused thoughtfully. "He's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he rather wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of trying to stop us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the Mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the _right_ to face Voldemort if I could . . ."

Draco snorted. "Yeh, well, he's barking all right. Grown men cannot even face Voldemort and live to tell about it. You're something else, Harry."

"Are you going to be up for the end-of-the-year feast tomorrow? The teachers are all being quite secretive as to what House won the House Cup. The food ought to be good," finished Ron, thinking from his stomach, as always.

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

"You've had nearly _fifteen minutes, now **out**_!" she said firmly.

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-

After a decent night's sleep, Harry felt nearly back to normal.

"I want to go to the feast," he told Madam Pomfrey as she reorganized his many sweet-boxes. "I can, can't I?"

She sniffed. "The Headmaster has granted allowance for you to do so." Harry could tell she obviously did not agree with this assessment. "And you have another visitor."

"Oh!" exclaimed Harry "Who is it?"

Hagrid sidled through the door as Harry spoke. As usual when he was indoors, Hagrid looked far too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Harry, took one look and burst into tears.

"It's all my fault!" he sobbed, his face in his hands. "I tol' the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! I t was the only thing he didn' know an' I tol' him! Yeh could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a Muggle!"

"Hagrid!" Harry was shocked to see Hagrid so full of remorse. His giant tears would flood the room, Harry thought, much as Alice's had in _Alice in Wonderland_, if he did not gain control of himself. "Hagrid, he would have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about."

"Yeh could've died! An' don' say the name!"

Harry took as deep a breath as his slightly sore ribs would allow and bellowed, "VOLDEMORT!"

Hagrid was shocked out of his tears.

"I've met him and I'm calling him by his name. Please cheer up, Hagrid. We saved the Stone, it's gone, he can't use it. Have a Chocolate Frog. I've got loads."

Hagrid wiped his nose and said, "That reminds me. I've got yeh a present."

"It's not a stoat sandwich is it?"

Hagrid gave a weak chuckle.

"Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'Course he shoulda had me sacked . . . great man, Dumbledore."

He handed Harry a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his parents.

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos . . . Knew yeh didn' have any . . . D'yeh like it?"

Harry couldn't speak, but Hagrid understood.

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Harry slowly made his way down to the Great Hall for the feast alone that night. He had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's last minute fussing-about, so the Great Hall was already full.

It was curiously absent of any House colours.

When Harry walked in, there was a sudden hush and then the conversations resumed.

He slipped into a seat between Draco and Blaise at the Slytherin table. Pansy gave him a shy smile and asked how he was doing. Harry said he was still sore but feeling much better. He tried to ignore the cold looks some of his own House was treating him too – and the fact that other Houses were standing on chairs to get a better look at him.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

"Another year gone!" he said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing flimflam before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are a little fuller than they were . . . you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts . . .

Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Hufflepuff, with two hundred and twelve points; in third, Slytherin, with three hundred and thirty-two; Gryffindor has three hundred and fifty-two, and Ravenclaw, three hundred and eighty-five."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Ravenclaw table. Harry turned slightly to see his friends disheartened looks at Gryffindor. Hufflepuff didn't seem very upset. The Slytherins, however, were quite annoyed. Several were sure it was Harry's fault.

"Yes, yes, well done, Ravenclaw," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. The Ravenclaws' smiles faded.

"He can't possibly be taking points away from us after what you saved the school from, can he?" asked Pansy nervously.

Harry shrugged. "It doesn't seem like it, not after the way he acted towards me in the Infirmary."

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes . . ."

"First – to Mr. Ronald Weasley . . ."

Ron went purple in the face. It clashed rather awfully with his hair.

". . . for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor Housetwenty-five points."

The Gryffindors burst out into raucous cheers, but Dumbledore was not finished.

"Second – to Miss Hermione Granger . . . for the cool use of logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor Housetwenty-five points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears.

"Third – to Mr. Harry Potter . . ." said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. ". . . for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Slytherin House seventy points."

The din was deafening. It was unheard of. Two Houses had tied for the House Cup. The two Houses who were always at each other's throats.

Slytherin _and_ Gryffindor now stood equally at four hundred and two points.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, "we need our decorations!"

He clapped his hands, and instantly, large House flags appeared, green Slytherin flags hanging over the Gryffindor table, red Gryffindor flags over the Slytherins. Harry glanced upwards and then turned a questioning eye at the Headmaster. His eyes twinkled merrily with mischief and merriment.

Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall looked on with amazement at the results. A small replica of the House Cup appeared in front of both of them. Snape discovered, much to his amusement, that they appeared to be full of Ogden's Firewhiskey.

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Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. All seven of them received good marks; Hermione, of course, game top of the year. Even Neville scarped through, his good Herbology mark making up for the abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid as he was vicious, might be thrown out, but he had passed too.

Suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks packed, notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays; Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bertie Bott's Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened guard was by the barrier, letting them through in twos and threes so as to not attract undue attention from the Muggles.

"You must come and stay this summer," said Ron, to the group at large. "I'll send owls."

Draco shook his head. "Don't send the Slytherins owls – our parents will be suspicious. I'll try to find a way we can communicate that won't get any of us in trouble . . . though knowing my Father, he has already heard about Harry, the Stone, and Voldemort . . . hopefully nothing evil will come of it. I'll try to keep in touch. Maybe one day we can visit normally, Ronald. I'd like that."

The red-head blushed, although not with the same dreadful purple colour that had surfaced during the feast.

"Well enough, then," he said good naturedly, holding out a hand for a parting shake.

"Thanks," said Harry. "I'll need something to look forward too. I suspect this summer will be worse than others.

People jostled them as they moved forwards towards the barrier. Some of them called:

"Bye Harry!"

"See you, Potter!"

"Still famous," said Blaise, grinning at him.

"Not where I'm going, I assure you of that," said Harry.

He, Ron, and Hermione passed through the gateway together.

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-

"Ready, are you?"

It was Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still moustached, still looking furious at anything related to Harry. Behind him stood a terrified looking Aunt Petunia and Dudley.

"Hurry up, boy, we haven't got all day!" He walked away.

"See you over the summer?" asked Harry.

Ron nodded. Hermione looked a bit shocked at just how unpleasant Harry's Uncle truly was. "Hope you, er – have a good holiday," said Hermione.

"Oh, I will," said Harry. "_They_ don't know we're not supposed to do magic. I'm going to have a _splendid_ time teasing Dudley this summer."

The three said a final goodbye. Harry had already bid his Housemates farewell before venturing through the barrier.

With a resigned sigh, Harry strode off after his Uncle. He did not see the dark shape of his Head of House lurking in the shadows, his eyes hard and cold as he once again witness the treatment that Harry's family displayed. _'Even in public, Muggles are so uncouth,"_ thought Snape. The Headmaster had sent him in secret. He had gone as far as Hogsmeade and then apparated to the Wizarding section of the station.

'_You will have a good summer, child,'_ he thought silently, still fuming. _'Slytherins protect their own.'_

Finis

_There will be a sequel._


End file.
